Welcome to the City of Angels
by fireworkfiasco
Summary: What happens when two of Los Angeles' heroes meet? Sydney is rescued by the mysterious Angel, page 47 is in play, and the end of the world seems inevitable. Yet again. [An AliasAngel crossover ON HIATUS.]
1. Prologueing

**Welcome to the City of Angels**  
Rating: Pg.13  
Blurb: An Alias/Angel crossover. Sydney is rescued by the mysterious Angel, Rambaldi makes a cameo, and relationships are set into motion. (Vaughn/Sydney, Angel/Buffy, and possible hints of Wesley/Cordelia)

Chapter 1: Prologueing_

* * *

Damn it. _

What pissed Sydney off was that she could easily slip into a crowd unnoticed in any other city on the planet. But here in Los Angeles, her home, she stuck out like a sore thumb. Attention was paid to her by guys she wouldn't look twice at; just as one was doing now, following her out of the bar without even stopping to pay his tab.

And Sydney, caught up as she was in her own little soap opera, ignored him, and kept marching on, hoping that he'd take the hint and leave her alone.

Except now she was staring up at a ten-foot wall and wondering just where in the hell she was; her blind walk taken without thought to where she was headed. And now she was lost.

The man was standing at the mouth of the alley, garbage spilling out into the street around him. She was trapped, wearing high heels that pinched and a dress that hindered her movements, the long flowing skirt twisting about her legs.

Damn Will for making her meet him at that bar. Damn him for not showing up. Damn Will in general. He had asked her to meet him and Francie at this old hangout of his; he had big news, so he said. She had waited half an hour, then an hour, finally leaving after sitting for two hours with her warm cocktail and no sight of the harried journalist.

A low growl from her captor made her spin, still trying to find a way out of this predicament that didn't end with her assailant in the hospital. She didn't want to have to explain how an unarmed civilian was brutally beaten by an equally unarmed woman who supposedly worked for a bank.

She turned towards him, trying to appear as confident as she could. "Hello. Can I help you?" She forced exasperation into her voice, making anger drip from every syllable. She wasn't going to be bullied around. Not tonight; not after getting back from one flop of a mission and then receiving the silent treatment from her handler who 'hadn't known' about the back up security measures.

"Actually, you can." The man sounded slightly drunk; something that could be used to her advantage. He paced towards her, still bathed in shadow.

"Oh, really. How?" He was getting on her nerves now.

"You could always stand still." He was just out of her reach – she would have to move if she wanted to initiate the fight. His arms, though, were longer then hers; which she found out when his hands closed about her neck, slamming her backwards into the wall. Stars blinked before her eyes and she fought to keep calm.

His grip was tight; too tight. Either this guy was super buff, on major steroids, or…

She lost her train of thought as instinct kicked it; her need to breath fighting off the logical past of her brain that was analyzing the situation carefully.

Bringing her elbows down on the upper forearm – just below the elbow – of her captor made his arms buckle, releasing his hold on her just long enough for her to plant a foot on his chest and send him flying backwards.

Sydney fell the foot or so to the ground – the guy was as least 9 inches taller then she was – and struggled to her feet, blinking away the flickering dots and spangles that resulted from lack of oxygen.

Whoever had attacked her, though, recovered faster than she did and he swung his arm out wildly. Sydney barely had time to duck, flying backwards into the wall again as his other fist connected with her torso. The sharp crack barely registered as she melted to the ground, the pain overwhelming.

Her assailant pulled her to her feet, roughly ramming her head against the brick before pinning her between his body and the wall. One arm was caught painfully behind her, twisted to a point that she knew it was either going to break or snap free of the joint, ripping something along the way. His stench was unbearable: a mix between urine and blood, the smell acidic and metallic all at once.

She poked a finger in the general direction of his eye, unable to throw a punch with his arms in the way. He spun away as she connected, and she fell again; this time not so lucky as her arm gave an unappetizing pop and her leg gave out as she landed heavily on a pop can, twisting her ankle and causing her to fall to one knee.

She didn't acknowledge the pain; she knew that to give in now would mean failure. And what this guy wanted – whether it was sex, money, or her life – was not going to be given up without a fight.

He advanced on her again, recruiting a length of pipe from the ground as he marched towards her, anger evident. "You bitch; you'll die. And you'll die nice and slow."

Sydney gathered the strength she had left, focusing on her breathing and the rhythmic slaps of boot heels on asphalt, concentrating. When the toes of her attacker's boots had just entered her field of view, she lashed out, bringing a knee into his groin and a fist into his stomach.

As he bent over in obvious agony, she brought her knee up again, this time to confer with his face, effectively smashing his nose.

But somehow, he recovered, a hand connecting with her temple in an unholy slap that sent her reeling against the steadiness behind her. She barely deflected his next blow; a downward slash with the lead pipe that caused a crunching sound to reach her ears, her arm thrown up to protect her head.

Instinctively, she huddled against the wall; one arm twisted out of joint, the bone evidently not matching up, the other broken across the forearm. Her ankle was throbbing horribly, a wound above her eye bleeding terribly.

But he threw away the pipe, instead pulling her to her feet. Her head lolled to one side, she unable to hold it up anymore as her strength fled. And she embraced the blackness that overcame her, smiling slightly as she caught sight of an angel over her murderer's shoulder.


	2. Introductions

**Welcome to the City of Angels**

Rating: Pg.13

Blurb: An Alias/Angel crossover. Sydney is rescued by the mysterious Angel, Rambaldi makes a cameo, and relationships are set into motion. (Vaughn/Sydney, Angel/Buffy, and possible hints of Wesley/Cordelia)

Chapter 2: Introductions

_Damn it._

He really hadn't the time. He was expected back by nine; it was nearly ten. Errands had taken longer than expected, and then he had run into a contact who wanted to chat.

And Angel, being the uncommunicative fellow that he was, hadn't said anything against that plan. That was why he could now be found folded into a booth, half listening to his friend while actually watching the patrons in the bar.

One in particular grabbed his attention: a girl alone at the counter. Her attention wasn't on anything around her; instead, she glanced between the clock and the door several times. She was waiting for someone. And whoever he was, he was late.

When she stood, throwing money down for her tab and exchanging a few pleasantries with the bartender – Angel couldn't help but overhear her voice, light and dancing like a flute with an underscore of a mellow viola, as she wished the man a nice night – she headed towards the door. She knew her way around, carefully swaying around drunken males and the occasional barmaid with a pitcher of beer.

Almost immediately, a man in the booth next to Angel's stood and hurried after her, ignoring the bartender who called after him and the waitress he ran into who dropped her pitcher into the lap of a sloshed fellow.

He debated whether to follow. In the crowded confines of this tavern, he wasn't quite sure if he was human or not; the scent of so many other humans assaulting his nose that he couldn't pick one from the other.

Instinct won out, and he apologized and fled, following the drunkard who was weaving behind her as she marched the streets, head down.

Wherever the girl was headed, she moved quickly, and Angel fought to keep up with her without alerting her stalker – whom Angel could definitely tell _wasn't_ human – that she had help.

Panic overtook him, however, as he rounded a corner to find them both missing, the street completely empty. A newspaper skidded across the sidewalk as a car sped by; Angel ignored it. He listened carefully, trying to place any sound that could let him help the girl.

Muffled grunts drew his attention and he raced to a back alley, sliding to halt as the girl kneed her attacker in the face. The sound of his nose crushing was audible even from where Angel was standing, transfixed.

The man's hand connected with her face and she flew into the brick wall behind her. Angel started forward even as he heard the pipe connect with her arm. She was dragged to her feet, her head lolling to one side.

And that's when it happened. Their eyes met, for the briefest second, and Angel was startled to the core. Something about her eyes – he didn't have time for that. The vampire was about to feed, his mouth just seconds away from her thin neck.

Her eyes fluttered closed and Angel fished in his pocket for the stake he always carried. He slammed it into the vampire's back, catching the girl before she could fall as ashes caught in the breeze.

She was light enough that Angel knew he could carry her, and carry her he did as he hurried back to his offices, rushing past Cordelia's curious face as she opened the door to his impatient knocking.

"What do you have here?" She asked, frowning slightly as Angel swept her desk clear of everything and laid the unconscious form on it.

"Don't know who; found her battling a vamp and kicking some sense into it. It got the better hand though, and she isn't doing too well."

He ran his fingers along her shoulder, finding it wildly out of joint, the bone caught behind her shoulder blade. Her other arm was mangled with torn skin and blood, obviously broken. Her ankle, protruding from underneath her skirt, was already swollen and Angel eased her high heel off, undoing the lacing that wound up her leg. A mottled purple and green, the foot was twisted and flaming hot. A quick search produced another broken rib and numerous bruises along her thighs, some older than others which confused Angel. How had she been abused so badly before this night?

She was gorgeous; long, silky brown hair that just brushed her shoulders – thin, pale ones that were wracked with shots of pain. Her dress, a thin summer piece that Angel found quite to his liking, highlighted her thin frame, drawing out curves and flattering her figure. Its deep emerald color called attention to her coloring, and the long skirt drew interest to lean legs that peeked from a slit in the light fabric.

Something clicked as he looked down at the girl – he knew he couldn't help her as battered as she was – and everything seemed to fall into place. Cordelia was already on the phone, gesturing uselessly as she described the injuries. Somewhere in the distance, Angel heard sirens wail to life, gaining ferocity as they races towards him. But his eyes never left the girl's face, as she lay peacefully unaware of the rush and chaos surrounding her.

Several hours later, a doctor emerged from the double doors that Angel and Cordelia had paced in front of, unable to find anything out as the mysterious girl went into surgery to repair the broken rib and reset her shoulder, adding a steel plate to her forearm as it had shattered when the pipe had connected.

"You two brought in the beaten woman, correct?"

Angel nodded, not breaking stride as he wore a path in the grungy carpeting.

"May I ask what happened?" His tone was accusatory, as though Angel might have something to do with the wretched wounds that tormented the girl.

"I found her. A man was mugging her; she was beaten with a pipe… and then I took her to my offices, and had my secretary call the ambulance. Just tell me, is she going to be all right? She was so…broken before. Please; how is she doing?"

The doctor's face relaxed slightly. "She's out of surgery now. I want to keep her for observation overnight, but in the morning I suggest you take her home and take care of her."

"Me? Doesn't she have a family, or a roommate?"

"She'd adamant that she doesn't want to go home in this condition. I suggested a coworker or a family member, but she claims that it isn't possible. If it is a problem for you, I could always send her home alone, but it's not something I would do willfully."

Cordelia stepped forward, elbowing Angel roughly even as she flirtatiously eyed the doctor. "It isn't a problem at all. Angel here's just a little shy around the ladies."

He could have strangled her right then, but the beaming smile that wrapped around the doctor's face made Angel reconsider.

Instead, he turned away from Cordelia. "May we see her now?"

"Yes, but only for a few minutes. We're giving her something to ease the pain and help her to fall asleep. If you'd like 10 minutes; she's in room 447."

Angel was already through the door and halfway down the hall, a shouted, "Thank you so very much," thrown over his shoulder as he raced down the hallway.

The door eased open slowly and Sydney turned, half expecting to see her father or Dixon walk in. What she wasn't prepared for was the hunk of heavenliness that poked his head around the door, dark eyes curious and full of retained regret.

As he stepped into the room, nervously filling the doorframe with his tall stature, Sydney couldn't help but stare. He was tall, muscled, and handsome; a combination that stole her breath. His eyes were like melted chocolate, so warm but so intense. His hair was messily perfect; it made her want to tangle her fingers in it. The realization that she was attracted to him made her blush and she tore her eyes away.

"Can I help you?" He seemed oddly familiar, something that nagged at her as she tried to place his face. Her words, without trying, seemed clipped and angry and she tried to stir in honey, to blend it smoothly.

She knew that by no standards set before man, did she even register as a woman at this point. According to the doctor she had spoken with not a minute before, she was lucky to be alive. Her hair was in a ratty braid down her back, blood still clotted in it. A gauze bandage was taped to her forehead, another to her collarbone. One arm was in a cast, the other a sling, and her ankle was hanging from the ceiling, something that actually dulled the throbbing slightly. And her chest was bound so tightly that breathing was a chore. Not to mention, she was now the proud owner of a steel plate that was holding the 5 sections of her forearm together; a fact that wouldn't go unnoticed by every metal detector from here to New York, New York.

She felt like crap and probably looked like it too. It wasn't self-image that bolstered her, it was her dignity; the knowledge that she fought a good battle and that her scars were proof. And that even though the man standing in the doorway was gorgeous to absolutely no end; it was obviously some kind of mistake.

"Actually, yes, you can." His _voice_ was even gorgeous; it sounded like a cello and Sydney once again pictured how she must look, confined to bed with a hospital gown on in the most freakish shade of yellow she had ever seen.

"I've heard that before. Just before I was almost killed. How may I help?" Somehow, it didn't come out as rude as Sydney had thought. It instead sounded regretful and frightened; a strange combination that left a bitter after taste in her mouth.

"I… What's your name?"

_Damn it._

That's where she'd seen him before; he was the angel. The one who had come for her and taken her away from the pain. Brought her back to reality and told her to keep fighting.

And now he was asking her name.

And she couldn't remember it.

"Umm… I… Actually, you see," she began. She tried to fight the stuttering, a curse she had worked around since the 3rd grade, something that had amused her fellow classmates to no avail. Something her mother had helped her work through; something her mother never finished.

"I'm Angel, if that helps any." For some inexplicable reason, it didn't surprise her that her angel was named Angel. What surprised her was the shy tone that rang in her ears long after he finished speaking, queuing her interest.

"Sydney." She forced it out, grinding her teeth as she heard the exasperated current in it, the slight slur from the medicines in her IV.

"Sydney," he repeated, rolling it around in his mouth like a butterscotch. "Sydney. I like it. It's a pretty name." The compliment was murmured to the floor, his eyes following the pattern in the tiles with a keen interest that amused her.

"Thanks; I like Angel too, if you really want to know."

"Well, I came in here to find out if you were going to be okay… And about what's going on when you're released."

Released? From custody? Prison? Where? She checked the semi-open door for guards, breathing a slight sigh when she found none. Thoughts raced through her mind – who would be holding her? SD-6 didn't know about her betrayal – she hoped – and the CIA would have no reason… Unless they thought her a triple agent or some other such tom foolery…

"You know, from the hospital." He glanced up at her with an earnest look in his eyes that set her back. Something about his eyes, –so deep, so haunted – made her want to find out what was bothering him, and never let it hurt him again.

Oh – her mind had run away with her. She laughed nervously, praying that he hadn't noticed her slight attack of fear, and nodded. "What's going on?"

"I hear you don't want to go home, so if you want, you can come and stay with me and Cordelia and Wesley for a few days. Until, you know, you're ready to go home. It'd be a safe place to stay, and you wouldn't have to feel obligated about anything."

Cordelia? Who was that? His wife? That must be it; a man like this couldn't be single in any aspect of the word. And Wesley? Their kid; the little boy born of whatever love this couple shared. Yes, she would be beautiful, someone to match his dark good looks. And they would live in a sweeping mansion; an old Victorian house with mysterious hallways and secret passages…

But it was true; she didn't want to go home. Home was were Francie and Will were; where questions would be asked that were unanswerable. They couldn't see her in this condition, it wouldn't be right. Never mind that it wasn't even mission injuries; they would simply bring up the other bruises, the other sprains and strains and torn ligaments. She couldn't go home.

But where then? Her father's house? Not on her life. Vaughn's apartment? She wasn't speaking to him. And even if she was, it would be wildly uncomfortable as they adjusted. Not to mention Sloane would have a conniption. Sloane's condo? Gag. No, never. Weiss's place? Not comfortable with that either. She wouldn't push herself on Dixon; he had a family and was SD-6, innocent as he was.

No, she had no place to stay. And this sexy Angel was offering her that very thing, an eager look in his eyes that awoke an answering call in her. It was a lustful passion that burned hot inside and she felt her cheeks flame red. The question wasn't, 'Should I say yes?' the question was, 'Could I say no?'

"That would be lovely; thank you."

His face broke into a heart-stopping grin and Sydney fought not to melt into the hospital bed, knowing full well that she might have thrown herself headfirst into a trap or some other equally as daunting danger.

But try as she might, she couldn't fear the man standing in the doorway, gazing at her as though she was something amazing. He had saved her from death and now was saving her from her own life. What more could she ask for?

He answered it by simply grinning, the wattage in his smile so great that Sydney was sure she could smell her hair singing. "I'd better go; the doctor said ten minutes and it's been 15. I'll come again in the morning and we can figure this all out then, okay?"

Sydney nodded, knowing full well that tonight she would be dreaming of dark eyes. And as she drifted off to sleep later that night, she put from her mind SD-6 and the CIA, trying hard to remind herself that she had almost died. She deserved a night off. So, she'd call tomorrow, late afternoon, after she was released. _If_ they released her.

The next morning found her completely rested, the drugs given to her to help her sleep still causing a mellow, happy feeling to permeate her body. It was with a dimpled smile that she met Angel as he, a pretty girl with long brown hair and light, dancing eyes, - hadn't Sydney said she'd be pretty? – And a thin man with a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose entered the room. She ignored the fluttering in her stomach at Angel's heavy glance and instead, focused her attention on the blanket draped over her legs.

"Good morning. How did you sleep?" His first words to her were filled with concern, and she tried hard not to stare as he took the seat next to her, hand lying temptingly close to her own. To control her urgings – after blaming in fiercely on the drugs – she began to twist her hospital bracelet around her wrist, the sharp edges stinging as she dug them into her skin.

"Okay. They put something in my IV and I was out like a light."

The thin girl who had been glancing at the bare furnishings with a horrified look in her eye suddenly cleared her throat and Angel jumped, obviously remembering that he wasn't alone.

"Oh, I apologize. How rude of me. This is Cordelia, my secretary, and this is Wesley, my…assistant."

Sydney forced a smile to her lips as she looked at his guests, their faces expressing a mix of two parts genuine concern to one part suspicion. Ah, so she wasn't his wife! But, what was she then? The looks he sent her way revealed that they were much more than coworkers but did that mean that they were…intimate? "Hi, it's nice to meet you. I'm Sydney."

It seemed, almost reluctantly, that a smile crossed the face of the girl; the one Sydney knew was Cordelia. "Hello. What happened?"

When she saw the pained look Angel was shooting her, she rolled her eyes. "I know what _happened_, silly, but I want to know what she saw. You know; her side of the story."

_What was she doing?_

Cordelia, being the ever-curious one that she was, had decided to quiz the poor girl almost immediately.

"Well, I really don't know." Sydney's voice was soft, eyes turned to the window as she remembered. He let his eyes roam over her face, taking in the pert nose, the shapely jaw, the wide, hazel eyes… A bruise was blooming on one side of her face, the colors spectacular.

"It all happened so fast. But…I was cornered by this guy and then he tried to kill me, so I fought back." She didn't seemed fazed at she was saying, instead just unattached, eyes distant and hands unconsciously roaming the sheets as she sought the words she needed.

"He was really strong, though, so he got the hardest blows in. Don't think I would've made it if I hadn't been rescued by Angel."

He felt the color rise into his cheeks, but he didn't look away. Something about her – her strength, her weakness, her mixture of the two – drew him in and he fought to stay in control, knowing exactly that his attraction to her would lead nowhere.

"It was nothing; I saw you needed help and I stepped in."

"What happened to him?" The was some hidden meaning to her question; Angel could sense her anticipation. But her question was a valid one, and something he couldn't bring himself to answer. She had no idea what took over the streets at night; she had no idea what he was. Her question still hung in the room like a blanket thrown over a fire; it could smother the flames or combust and bring more havoc than that already wrecked.

"He…you see," Wesley tried to begin, glancing at Angel, then at Cordelia. She looked between the two, not knowing how to respond.

"He got what he rightly deserved." The room fell silent after Cordelia spoke.

"You killed him," her voice was flat, the statement harsh in the quiet room. "You killed that man, didn't you? Angel? You killed him? Why? Why didn't you get the police or something? Why did you kill him?"

He didn't want to explain; knew that he couldn't. "It's complicated. I…"

"You what? You killed a man? You dumped the body in the ocean, hoping that the fish'd eat it and the world would rejoice that you took one more bad man off the streets? Or are you sorry? Are you sorry that you took a life; took the life of someone who has a family and a job?"

She knew. Somehow, inexplicably, she knew what it was like to have a death on your consciousness. Angel stared, pieces randomly falling into place as his mind manipulated the logic of it all. No, he wasn't sorry that he had killed that demon, but he did know the guilt of having a man's blood on his hands. He had killed so many, and know he was looking at a girl who could probably read it in his eyes.

When she spoke next, her words astounded, confirming what he had just guessed. "This isn't the first life you've taken, is it?"

"No, it's not."

"How many then? How many have you killed?"

He wished he could follow her thought process; he wanted to know if she despised him now. But he couldn't, and her question still hung in the room.

"Enough that I'm truly sorry."

She sat back in the bed, eyes dark as she contemplated what he had said. He longed to jump to his feet and pace, to get away from her knowing gaze. There was something too…undecided in her eyes and it made him nervous.

"What would you give to undo it?" As if that question mattered; he had given so very much, but it still wasn't enough. His time, his blood, his soul were all given, sacrificed because of his indiscretions. What would he give? What hadn't he given?

"Quite a bit. Nothing I haven't tried to give already."

Angel thought that she would brush his words off, but instead, he could see her studying them, assessing the meaning behind them. Finally, after seconds that had stretched to years, she gave a confirming nod and released Angel from her stare.

"Why? Does it matter?" He couldn't help but ask; his curiosity was getting the better of him.

"Yes, it does, actually. But for my own reasons."

"So… You've killed a man as well?" Cordelia asked; eyes wide as she studied the injured girl.

There was silence for the longest time and Angel struggled to find a place he could rest his eyes, the thought of glancing, even for a second, at Sydney seemed so rude. The question was personal; it was something that was private. Killing someone, even in self-defense, was a horribly guilt-ridden crime. Angel knew this, and he fought to find words to dissipate the tension in the room.

"Yes."

Everyone froze, trying not to meet anyone else's gaze. Angel's thoughts had kicked into gear and now were racing down so many different pathways that he couldn't follow any of them. Whom had she killed? Why had she killed him? Where? When? How?

As if to clarify, she spoke up again. "I've killed a man. I've killed more than one. But I'm sorry for almost every one of them."

"So, now we all have our secrets. Let's leave them as such until we know more about everyone else, okay?" Wesley was nervous, fidgeting over in the corner he had adopted as his own, hopping from foot to foot, as all eyes turned to him.

Almost in unison, heads nodded, agreeing to the silent truce, but really only serving to heighten the curiosity that plagued each and every one of them. It was a slightly embarrassed Angel that stood, stretching involuntarily as he spoke, not used to sitting for prolonged amounts of time between random bursts of action. "Do you know when you are going to be released?"

The question shocked Sydney, jerking her back to the reality were they were all innocents without deaths on their consciousnesses.

"The Doctor said shortly after ten, but that's only if my CAT scan comes back okay. He wants to make sure I don't have a concussion or anything."

It was slightly ironic that just as she finished speaking, a man in a white lab coat breezed into the room; a thick file folder tucked under one arm. He was a shorter, robust man, with thinning white-blond hair and merry gray eyes behind thick-framed glasses. He smiled widely at everyone in the room, cornering every one of the newcomers with an outstretched hand.

"I'm Dr. Ziggs. Been Sydney's doctor for a long time now, and I'm glad you brought her here," he said as he pulled a chair from the corner of the room and settled it at the foot of Sydney's bed. "May I discuss everything in front of them?" The question was aimed at Sydney about Angel and co., and she gave a small nod, almost unsure. "That's great! I take it that this is the young man that's going to take care of you until you're big and strong again?"

Sydney blushed, but gave another nod. Dr. Ziggs didn't seem to notice, as he was furiously rifling through the file, a wad of papers that was a good inch and a half thick. Angel cocked his head slightly to read the name – shocked for a fraction of a second when he saw that it had 'Sydney Anne Bristow' typed onto the label.

"Well, you know your injuries, but let me go over them for the sake of Mr. Angel here. Sydney's left arm is shattered; something we don't see all that often, as usually it's a clean break. So we've put in a steel plate; something that will more than likely be permanent unless it heals very nicely. And when I say 'very nicely,' I mean super, awesomely, greatly nicely.

"She also came in with a disjointed shoulder. We reset it, but she strained a few muscles in the immediate area so she won't be able to use that arm for some time. Be certain that she puts the cream I'll give you on it thrice a day – it'll keep the inflammation down.

"Her ankle is severely sprained. No walking on it for two weeks. After that, she may attempt crutches, but only after two weeks of absolutely no pressure on it. It's a miracle that she didn't tear anything; heaven only knows why her tendons are so tough. Also, some of that cream for her shoulder will work wonders on her ankle; thrice a day should do it, I think.

"She also has one broken rib and one cracked one. Nothing too serious; it's bound and as long as she stays still for two to three weeks, she'll be right as rain very shortly.

"I'm also going to give her some antibiotics for safety measures. She says she was hit with a pipe that was picked up off the street and that's what caused the lacerations on her arm. I've administered a tetanus shot, for precaution, and the antibiotics will further protect against infection. Change the bandages once a day for the first five days, then switch to every third day after that. It's the same for the wound above her eye.

"Any questions?"

"Not really," Angel said from where he was still sitting, eyes slightly glazed from all that had just been thrown at him.

"Nope," Wesley chorused, with Cordelia nodding behind him.

"Well then. I know you've done this all before, Sydney, but I want you to be extra careful this time. Prior to this, it was one thing at a time. But this is all at once. Please, be careful, okay?"

Sydney could feel the blood in her face crowding in her cheeks. It wasn't that big of a deal; after all, she _had_ survived it. Not to mention numerous other things; stabbings, shootings, beatings, torture deals that would've broke the devil, and several cases of shock, something that plagued her more recently as she saw the world from new eyes. And as much as she loved Mr. Ziggs, her CIA issued doctor whom she had recheck everything she ever happened upon, just to be sure that SD-6 wasn't trying anything, she didn't like that he was making such a fuss over her injuries.

And in front of Angel and the rest! Why, he must think she was the most accident-prone female in the greater Los Angeles area. Not to mention the file on his lap – the _condensed_ version – was practically screaming that she was either very dangerous or very klutzy.

She could feel his eyes on her – he was curious. He wanted to know what the good Doctor was talking about, what '_before,_' and what circumstances had brought around this '_before_.' But she wouldn't be able to answer. Maybe it was better he thought her a klutz. She couldn't very well tell him the truth.

'_Yes, all my injuries are from the life threatening missions I'm sent on around the globe. You see; I'm a secret double agent that works for both a top member of an agency that is America's number one enemy as well as a top member of America's own Central Intelligence Agency. For seven years, I was working against the United States for a rogue agency who wishes to reassemble a weapon of mass destruction. Then they killed my fiancée and I found out the truth. So now, I'm a double agent for the good guys, trying to destroy the bad guys without getting caught by anyone, ever. And my father happens to be a secret double agent right beside me. Yeah, you got that all straight? Good. Now explain it to _me.'

Oh, that would go over so well. SD-6 would have a hay-day and Angel would end up no better than Danny had. The CIA would be furious and she knew she'd soon find herself in some sort of 'accidentally fatal' situation. Not to mention the trouble her father would get in.

She sat up straighter, ignoring the slight throb of her leg as it jolted in the sling. "Does that mean I can go home now?"

Angel smiled slightly were he was, still perched in the seat next to her. She tore her eyes away from his joy and tried to fight the urge to turn, catch his eye and smile back.

"Yes, actually, it does. No concussion means no more observation. I can have you out of here in ten minutes."

It actually took another forty minutes before Sydney was released. She dressed with Cordelia's much needed help, the buttons down the front of the dress too much to maneuver with both a cast and a sling. Cordelia then offered to comb out Sydney's hair, which had been battled into a bun after a quick rinse late last night that removed the dried gore.

She felt like a different girl as she emerged from the room propped in a wheelchair. Cordelia was right next to her, the girls already having formed a bond over the shared love of French Vanilla perfume; something Sydney had noticed and mentioned as she caught a faint trace of it in the air.

"You're going to love the office – I decorated it, but because Angel lives right underneath it, that's where you'll be staying, I take it. And I'll come with you to your house – or is it an apartment? – And make sure you get everything you need."

They rolled into the lobby where Angel was waiting with Wesley, both with large grins plastered onto their faces. Both automatically stood as they entered, Cordelia brushing it off as they did it often, and Sydney blushing – something she found to be a quite normal experience around this group of friends – and trying to hide her face in her hands.

Angel wasn't smiling, however, when he handed his keys over to Wesley. "Take care of her." She questioned for a moment why Angel wasn't coming with them, but she ignored the curiosity, choosing instead to ask later.

"Which one of us do you think he means?" Sydney asked quietly to Cordelia who tried to stifle her snorting laughter in her handbag.

"I think he means his car," Cordelia gasped after she had recovered from her unexpected voyage into her purse.

"Oh, I see," Sydney murmured with raised eyebrows.

Wesley, it turned out, was a studious driver who wouldn't nudge the needle even slightly past the posted speed limit, something much to the chagrin of every vehicle trapped behind him as he wandered the streets at a snail's pace. Horns were something that seemed to orchestrate a concert of epic proportions as they angrily insulted them.

It was all Sydney and Cordelia could do to keep a straight face as he coasted to a stop outside of Sydney's apartment and automobiles of all shapes and sizes sped ahead of them; numerous rude gestures hurled at Wesley, who pretended not to notice.

"Here you go. Don't take too long inside."

Sydney rolled her eyes as Cordelia eased her back into the wheelchair that they hospital had 'borrowed' them – to the tune of $250 dollars, something Angel hadn't seemed that fazed about.

It took some interesting maneuvering to get her up the stairs and into the apartment, a feat accomplished with two neighbors' help. When she finally stopped herself just inside the door, Cordelia right behind her, the first thing she noticed was the bright pink paper on the counter – a sheet from the stationary set she had bought Francie for Christmas almost a year ago. The next was the blinking message light on the answering machine. Cordelia asked what she needed done, and Sydney waved towards the bedroom distractedly, muttering to throw anything that looked clean into a bag with everything on her dresser.

The note was a hurried apology from Francie, saying that late customers had delayed her at the café last night, with a scrawl at the bottom from Will, that translated, said he had been called into a last minute meeting on copy for the Sunday edition of the paper, something he couldn't get out of.

Three of four messages were for her, the fourth from Charlie, a sickening affair of kissy noises and murmured cooing names that made Sydney fear she was going into sugar shock. One of the messages was for Joey's Pizza – a risky venture as whom in their right mind would leave a message at a pizza parlor? – But it obviously signaled that the CIA was desperate to contact her.

One of the last messages was from her father, spoken slowly and clearly, a clue that it was in code. She jotted it down after listening to it three times, trying to ignore the almost normal father-daughter vocabulary he used. They were in, by no means, a 'normal' father-daughter relationship. And blowing things up didn't count as bonding time either, at least in Sydney's book, although her father seemed to truly think it did.

The last message was from Sloane and she listened, and then deleted it with an extra hard slam after she braved his lies as he said that they were worried about her. The spic-and-span state of the apartment attested to the fact that he had sent a team into to check everything out. Luckily, she knew they'd find nothing, as she hadn't known she was going to be attacked last night and spend the better part of her missing time under the influence of painkillers that also killed most of her inhibitions.

Cordelia reemerged just as she finished a letter to Francie to tell her that she was going on another business trip – 'Lord knows how long I'll be, but I swear I'll call on this one!' – and signed her name to it with a flourish, gaining an evil glare from Cordelia.

"What?" Sydney asked innocently.

"You know the Doctor told you not to use that arm. And doesn't it hurt?"

"No," she admitted with a giggle. "The painkillers are still in full effect."

"I see." This time it was Cordelia who had her eyebrows in full, upright position, something that made them both collapse in laughter just as Wesley poked his head in with an annoyed look twisted into his face.

"And if there's anything else, anything at all, just talk to me because Angel couldn't tell you the difference between eyeliner and eye shadow," Cordelia was saying a short time later. They had gotten rearranged in Angel's car, curled together in the back and speaking quietly so Wesley couldn't make out what they were saying over the sound of the concerto going full-blast on the radio. "But that's because he's too busy running around, saving people. Although, he doesn't usually bring them home… But I suppose it's because most of them take off when they find out – well, they take off," Cordelia hurriedly covered, then fell silent.

"When they find out what?" Sydney pressed, curious now as to what she had been about to say about her employer. Try as she might, Cordelia was strangely closed-mouthed about her boss, something she wasn't with anything else in her life.

"When then find out that he's a P.I., you know, a private investigator."

"Oh." She knew Cordelia was lying; her body language was screaming 'falsehood!' But something about her trust of Angel made her drop it. "So tell me more about this Wesley character. What's he like?"

Cordelia happily took up the abrupt topic change and happily shared all she knew about the bookish little man. When Sydney brought up what he had down before joined up with Angel Investigations – Angel's name for his detective agency, something Cordelia seemed really proud of, as she had talked for the better part of an hour on it – she clammed up suddenly, mentioning a prior gig in England and something in the northern part of California, before going quiet.

It was the same when Sydney asked what Angel Investigations investigated; a few words about stalkers and killers before zipping her lips and not saying another word.

When asked about Cordelia personally, however, Sydney found a treasure trove of information. She had met Angel back when she was in high school 'up north' somewhere – 'he had been dating a friend' – and they had accidentally run into each other in L.A. only a few months before. Sydney found out about her parents; they had 'silly memories – they forgot to pay their taxes. For their entire lives, you see.' And she knew about her new apartment; something she was very eager to show to Sydney.

But at any mention of anything she had already declared 'off-limits,' she'd change the subject without even looking up.

Something was going on with Angel and co., and Sydney was _dying_ to find out what.

He was trying to decide whether he was more worried about Wesley driving his car or about what Cordelia could be telling Sydney about him.

For some odd reason – maybe it was because he had a roommate on her way, or the fact that they already spotless quarters seemed slightly unkempt yet again – his apartment seemed to be closing in on him. The walls were getting closer, and he reduced his pathway, trying hard to focus on the pacing and not the nerves. '_Nerves are normal. Psycho vampires are not._'

That didn't do anything either.

When he finally heard Wesley pull in, he let out a long breath, gathering what courage he could muster. It was a happy little gathering that eventually tumbled into the office, Angel greeting them all as they spilled through the door. Jokes crossed between the group members as Wesley urged the wheelchair through the door, Sydney sitting like a queen, her head thrown back as she laughed at something Cordelia had said.

They fell silent when they entered, random spurting giggles escaping from the girls as Wesley said hello. Cordelia waved at him, then crossed to the coffeepot and flipped the thing on, before pulling a tray of cookies from the fridge below it. Everything had been set up the day before, with specific instructions to both boys not to touch a thing.

Sydney was still sitting silent just inside the doorway, watching as Cordelia and Wesley settled themselves into the office. Angel followed her gaze as it jumped about the room, her attention something that never seemed to be satisfied with any one thing.

"So, tell me; how long have you had these offices?"

"So business like so soon? Please, let me show you around. This is the office area; though it's more Cordelia's domain than mine. She runs things out here. My office is there. And downstairs is where I live; there's an elevator there to make moving between the floors easier." Angel waved at the big, boxy machine and then fell silent.

She nodded, taking in what he was saying, but not deterred from her question.

"And you've had this building how long?"

Angel laughed at her persistence, earning a reproachful look from Wesley, who had his head wedged in between several volumes on the bookshelf.

"About half a year now. Why?"

"Because, it's a beautiful building. Just curious, you know."

Cordelia snorted from her perch next to the gurgling coffeepot. "No; she's staking the joint out. She wants everything and everyone in it. That means _you_, darling." She drawled as she flipped through a magazine, paying more attention to the steaming concoction next to her than to the pages.

Even Wesley laughed at this, removing a rotting book from the shelves as he retreated to the chair that was behind Cordelia's desk. Angel relaxed slightly, releasing the tension from his rigid muscles. There had always been laughter in his office, sometimes forced and fake. But this laughter was free, and wild, and _wonderful;_ it made him smile…

"It means I'm too curious for my own good," Sydney muttered as Cordelia passed her a coffee cup, which she passed on to Angel. He accepted it with half a nod, his attention on the book Wesley was flipping through.

"What's that?" It was Cordelia who asked, already leaning over the pages with interest.

Wesley blushed eight shades of pink, trying and failing to pull the book away from Cordelia. "It's nothing. I swear."

"Liar. What is it?" She spun the text towards her, skimming the pages and muttering to herself. "A volume on…ancient gardening? Okay, yes, I admit that some of the things you read for fun are creepy, but this is taking it way too far."

Angel had to agree, the thought of Wesley puttering around outside, a floppy brimmed hat on, with zinc oxide smeared onto his nose, gardening tools of random shapes and sizes scattered among clods of dirt – it just wasn't something that Angel could see happening.

"Come on, I was reading through it before, and it has plenty of advice on medieval plants, not to mention it says what each herb can be used for. And some of them aid in healing, and I thought that since Ms. Bristow here obviously needs to be healed…" He trailed off as if not sure that he had said the right thing.

Cordelia snorted as she slid the volume back, turning to Angel and Sydney with a shrug. "He needs some real hobbies."

Sydney only looked skeptical, hands folded in her lap. Something about the stillness of that gesture pricked a certain amount of interest in Angel. Most people weren't like that. It was like in poker; people had a tell, some twitch or gesture that would speak volumes about what was beneath the surface. This girl – this almost silent, curiously strong girl – didn't seem to have a tell. She didn't fidget, even though she was with almost complete strangers. No, she sat still, almost as though she had been trained, been taught how to keep a secret.

He dismissed it, blaming it on an overactive imagination. After all, this wasn't Sunnydale; demons and evil didn't lurk everywhere. And spending so much time on the Hellmouth had definitely gone to his head.

And she _was_ human; something Angel had been very aware of as he had carried her back to the office, her warmth something he wasn't used to. And, although he was shamed to admit it, he _had_ been fascinated by the throbbing pulse at her throat; an area Angel usually wasn't so good with.

"Umm, I hate to be rude or anything, but do you think I could make some phone calls? You know, tell everyone that I'm still alive and just taking some time off?" Her voice was shy, something that surprised him. She just didn't seem that shy; just…not talkative.

"Of course; there's one in here, and there's one in my office."

"Oh no, that's alright. I'll use my cell. I don't want to rack up your phone bill."

Angel shrugged, gesturing to the door with an open palm. Cordelia rolled her eyes at him before hopping down from her perch on the counter to aid Sydney as she rolled the wheelchair hesitantly towards the open door.

She smiled back at everyone as she shut the door, Cordelia retreating to her post by the Mr. Coffee machine that was her God.

It was about ten seconds after the sudden exit that anyone moved at all, and then distractedly. Something about their new guest had them all focused with rapt attention, their interest in her somewhat frightening. Wesley was still flipping pages, but Angel suspected it was a front; that he wasn't really even looking at the book. Cordelia was filing her nails, something that usually induced a coma-like state on her part, as she wouldn't acknowledge the existence of any other living thing on the planet until she was finished. But this time she was stuck on one nail, the file barely moving. And Angel was no better off, unstacking papers just so he would have an excuse to stack them again and avoid staring at the closed door.

When an angry voice could be heard over the quiet mumblings of office work, all heads turned expectedly to the door, Cordelia's eyebrows raised in silent query.

All eyes turned back to each other, trying to decide what was to be done about it. Angel finally stood, heading towards the door almost hesitantly, cautiously. He knocked lightly, glancing back over his shoulder for encouragement. Both Wesley and Cordelia nodded at him, and he opened the door a bit, leaning thorough the doorway.

"Everything okay in here?"

"Yeah; it's fine." The panic in her voice told him otherwise, but he took in her set face, the eyes that said she was handling it. He had seen that look so many times – times he'd rather not remember; times he had spent in Sunnydale. Times with Buffy.

But he wouldn't think of Buffy now. She was something that had slipped from his grasp the moment she discovered that he wasn't alive. That he was something that she had been chosen to kill, destroy. To rid the Earth of him. And he had lost her. But not before almost destroying himself, her, her life, and then the entire Earth. What they had had…

And if he pretended hard enough, he could almost believe that he was over her.

Almost.

He nodded and shut the door, leaning against the hard wood, his eyes closed as unwanted memories assaulted him. This Sydney was so like Buffy. Their strength, their grace, their almost restless personalities. But where in Buffy he found sarcasm and anger, he found a stark, honest face that knew too much. But what she knew, he was interested in finding out. What could put so much into such young eyes? Such…distrust, such…loss.

They say that curiosity killed the cat; but Angel doubted it would harm the undead.

It wasn't going well. Well, that was an understatement.

Her first phone call she knew was going to be the worst. As she dialed in the number, she took steadying breaths, trying to remind herself that she wasn't trying to betray SD-6. No, she just wanted a few weeks off to recuperate.

"Hello?" The answer startled her out of her reverie, and she answered with a breathless "Hello, Sloane?"

"Sydney? Where are you? What happened? We've been worried sick!" The thought of Sloane, the heartless, egotistical creep who made lying an art form being worried about her made her nauseous.

"I'm staying with a friend." She made herself sound cheerful, but slightly exhausted. Being summoned into work was something that couldn't happen at this point; she couldn't walk at all. SD-6 would – or _should_, as it may – not have any need for a crippled agent to wander in every day.

"A friend? Just who is this friend?"

At least she could be honest with him about what happened; it hadn't anything to do with CIA business. Hopefully. She crossed her fingers as she explained, "I was mugged last night after I got off work. I was sent to the hospital, and I have injuries that will keep me out of the field for several weeks."

"Just who is this friend?" So much for caring about her.

"This guy I met at school." The lie came easily enough, after all, Arvin Sloane lied to her everyday, in between mission debriefs and pointless recon that really led nowhere. "I couldn't stay at home; my roommate would question the injuries, and then bring up the other ones I've had. This is an easy way to stay below the radar until I'm fully recovered."

"What hospital did you go to?"

Oh. She hadn't thought of _that. _She should have gone to the SD-6 hospital; then a copy of her complete examination would've been faxed to his house late last night. He would've known that she wouldn't be operational, that she couldn't go home. But then there was the chance that he'd have chased Angel away, and she'd be trapped in either the hospital or the SD-6 owned motel on 6th that was better known for the different drug dealers in every room.

"I was unconscious, so I was sent to the Los Angeles Memorial Hospital. I'm sure you could get a complete copy of my exams, unless you want me to go to Grand Central Infirmary and get reevaluated."

"That won't be necessary," he paused, as though searching for words.

She prayed that he would congratulate her on her foresight, or at least give her a week. But, instead, she got much more than she bargained for.

"Sydney, you know that this is against protocol. You are, however, a top member of this agency, and someone that I trust. Therefore, as long as I know where you are, I will…ignore this breach and make certain that you can recuperate in peace. Do you need a cover story for your roommate?"

Wasn't he the generous sort? "No; the bank is sending me on an extended trip that I'm not quite sure when it's going to end, but I'll call and check in. I'll use my cell so it can't be traced."

"Good. I'll be in touch, Sydney. I have matters to attend to. Please, get well soon."

And then he hung up. Some days, she just couldn't believe her luck. Obviously, something big was going down and Sloane was preoccupied. Otherwise, she was sure that men in black ski masks would have been pounding on the door, coming to…disable her even further. She said a silent thanks, and then redialed her phone, bracing herself again. At least the CIA was a tad more lenient with their star double agents. Sometimes.

"Hello, Agent Vaughn speaking." Even Vaughn sounded wiped, and she let a self-satisfied smile creep across her face. Wouldn't he feel bad to know that after giving her hell for a mistake that _he'd_ made, she'd gone and gotten the snot beaten out of her? Although, she thought she might embroider the story and add one or two men, just to make it seem less…weird. Usually a drunken man was no problem for a hardened agent, and then fact that she probably would've died without Angel… There was something not right.

"Hello Agent Vaughn. This is Agent Bristow reporting in."

"Sydney? Where in the hell are you?" Well, he was obviously alone. There was no way that he would be speaking like that if Director Kendell was anywhere near. "We got the report in this morning from Dr. Ziggs. What happened?"

Sydney mentally rolled her eyes, knowing full well that Dr. Ziggs had put exactly what had happened in his report. She knew because she saw the darn thing, read it, and had asked the Doctor to change one small detail, where he mentioned that she was brought in by Angel and that she was now going to stay with him.

And Dr. Ziggs, being the kind man that he was, didn't entirely take it out, but he did edit it to a small mention on page seven that was about half a line long. It seemed that Vaughn hadn't caught the mention of the 'rescuer/host, a white male with no criminal record and no government ties.'

"I was mugged. I'm fine, now, but I'm off of op for a few weeks. Dr. Ziggs said anywhere from six to eight weeks, depending on how my arm heals up."

"So where are you?"

_'Staying with my savior, the handsome, mysterious Angel and planning on blowing you all off for quite some time.'_ Except she knew it sounded better in her head then it would across a phone connection, so she sighed before answering.

"I'm at a friend's house. He's the one who found me, and I couldn't go home like this without questions about my past injuries, so I'm staying with him."

She could hear Vaughn's teeth grinding over the static. "He? Does the CIA know of your connection with this man? He could be a spy for SD-6 or the Alliance and you could be sitting in a trap right now."

Sometimes, when Vaughn went all Handler on her, she truly thought about asking her dad to sit him down and glare some sense into him.

"Actually," her voice was getting hard, edgy, something she didn't like all that much. "I'm sitting in a beautifully furnished office right now, sipping coffee while he politely waits outside with his friends."

"And how do you know that he doesn't have that room tapped?"

Uh, because she'd checked? "Vaughn, I'm not a little junior agent. I'm all grown up now; I've swept the room four times with the gadgets tech gave me. It's not like I'm a greenie." Her voice was really loud now, and she grimaced as she realized just how thin the walls were.

Vaughn fell silent, a hush that Sydney was glad for. She almost jumped out of her skin when a light tapping at the door sounded. It opened to reveal Angel, eyes worried.

"Everything okay in here?"

She tried to force a smile to her face. "Yeah; it's fine." Sydney wanted to say more, to explain that she didn't want to be talking to Michael Vaughn right then, but she knew she couldn't. He wouldn't understand her secrets.

"Was that him?" If Sydney hadn't fully been angry with him, she could have heard the twinge of jealousy that coated his words.

"Yes."

"The CIA will need to know where he's located, his full name and possibly his Social Security Number. We need to know if he has any connections with any foreign leaders, and any other information that you could find out. It is important that we know this guy, Sydney; he could be a threat to the agency."

No. No, this was not happening. The CIA, and not SD-6, bane of her existence, was going to follow her around like she was a child not to be trusted? Not to mention, suddenly her handler didn't seem to mind that she might be in immediate danger, and all he could talk about was the agency.

"No. You have my cell number; call that if you need to contact me. I need space and I need time to heal. This isn't going to be a, 'take an hour and you'll be fine,' thing. This is a, 'take a month and then we'll see how it's going,' recovery. Goodbye."

And then she flipped her phone shut on Vaughn's angry protestations and threw it onto the big desk that filled one half of the room.

This was going to be an interesting month.


	3. Visiting Hours

**Welcome to the City of Angels**  
Rating: Pg.13  
Blurb: An Alias/Angel crossover. Sydney is rescued by the mysterious Angel, Rambaldi makes a cameo, and relationships are set into motion. (Vaughn/Sydney, Angel/Buffy, and possible hints of Wesley/Cordelia)

Chapter 3: Visiting Hours_  
_

* * *

It had barely been ten minutes since Angel had knocked at the door, when Sydney reemerged, a triumphant smile on her face. It was something that he was glad to see there, and he grinned back.

"That was an adventure."

Angel shook his head as he went to help her, easing the wheelchair next to Cordelia's desk. A slinky that somebody had forgotten drew Sydney's attention and she picked it up, letting it pour from hand to hand.

A knocking interrupted Wesley, who had started to ask something. There was a second of silence, and then the door opened. And in stepped Kate Lockley; the last person on Earth Angel had been expecting.

"Hello," she said dully, pausing in the doorway as she surveyed the room. She had been in Angel's office before, but he could tell that she was uncomfortable.

"Kate." Of course, as was custom, Angel sounded surprised. But then again, Kate usually surprised him. He never knew what to expect.

"Yes. I'm Kate. Thanks for reminding me." She sounded exasperated and tired.

"Can I help you?" He told himself not to look, but a glance at Sydney told him that she was intrigued.

"Yes. I'm looking for Sydney Bristow."

Sydney gave a startled cough, a sound the caught the attention of everyone in the room. She shifted in her chair, and Angel followed her gaze back to Kate. Both women were studying each other with a look of distaste mirrored back at the other.

"I'm Sydney. What do you want?"

Kate stepped towards her, whipping out a notepad and pen. This gesture made an annoyed crease appear between Sydney's eyebrows, as though it was… primitive to be carrying them around.

"I'm here to gather information on your alleged mugging." Even as she spoke, she shot a glare in Angel's direction.

"My alleged…" Sydney repeated, somewhat startled. "What do you mean?"

"As we have no statement from you, and the only other witness was the one who brought you in, we cannot officially file anything."

Sydney rolled her eyes, something that didn't go unnoticed by every single person in the room. And most of them found it rather humorous. "You could file a report based on the _sole_ witness' account; it's something called a complaint. But if you don't trust the witness, then you've got a problem. So, are you saying that the witness is the assailant, or are you just harassing me because you wanted to see Angel?"

Kate was fumbling for an answer. "I…I… We need your statement."

"And who would 'we' be?" Sydney sounded extremely calm, as though she knew more about what they were talking about than the woman she was holding the conversation with.

"I'm Kate Lockley, L.A.P.D."

"Well Ms. Lockley, I don't have a statement to give, as I've already given it to Dr. Ziggs. He'll get it to the proper authorities."

"Dr. Ziggs?" Kate sound confused now.

All heads turned expectantly back to Sydney waiting for her to respond. The girls were speaking with forced politeness, and hint of anger braided into their words

"Yes, the doctor that treated me."

"He is not permitted to take statements."

Sydney rubbed at her forehead. "Yes, he is. He was licensed in 1994. He has my statement. I pretty sure that you have seen it; usually the departments get it shortly after the crime, so why are you here?"

"But…" Kate was wide-eyed, looking at the wounded girl with shock etched into her features. "Okay fine, we have your statement." She looked up at Angel then, her eyes filled with anger. "We just need to question Angel here on what happened to the assailant."

Sydney looked over Kate's shoulder at him, eyes dark with unease. "He has given a statement to that account as well. I saw that one, too."

Angel, after having left Sydney last night to rest, had been questioned by Dr. Ziggs and a man wearing a badge. They wanted to know what had happened; who had attacked Sydney and what Angel had done.

He had said the man ran away and that he was too worried about Sydney to give chase. More questions, then he was released to go home. But he hadn't; he'd paced the streets looking for something to kill, something to banish, something to slay.

Kate cleared her throat at the silence and then said, forcefully, "Could I ask you about it alone?"

He followed her into his office, shutting out the buzzing whispers. "I've already given a statement. So why are you here?"

She muttered beneath her breath. "It's because I need to know what really happened. What was it?"

"A vampire."

"And you killed it? Or ashed it? Or whatever you call it?"

Angel nodded, not liking where this conversation was headed.

"Does she know?"

"She knows that I killed it; but she doesn't know that it was a vampire."

"Or that you're one too?"

Angel shook his head, glad that being silent was something he did so well.

"So you're saying that you've got a girl staying with you that doesn't know that you're a vampire? And this is a healthy way to build friendships how?"

He ignored her. Sydney was hiding her own secrets, and she knew that he had his own. So they weren't lying to each other, they just weren't telling everything.

"Fine. I'll back up the whole 'he ran like a girl' theory so you'll be left alone. And maybe you should consider lying a little better. No one believes that you just happened to be walking by."

And then she turned on one heel and flung open the door, exiting without so much as a goodbye.

Angel watched her go with a self-satisfied smiled pushing up his cheeks; Cordelia and Wesley grinning behind their hands in the outer room.

* * *

"Who was that?" Sydney didn't like that Kate Lockley; she was too…pompous. Wandering in here and asking silly questions that she already had the answers to. And then dragging Angel away like that; Sydney could tell that she wasn't going to get along with her at all.

"Oh her? This cop that follows Angel around sometimes. And sometimes he follows her around. They like to share information and swap stories, it's a bonding thing or something," Cordelia answered from where she was rooting through her purse.

"They follow each other around? Why? Are they…together?"

"Not a chance. I personally can't stand her; she's too…I don't know… showy. Like she's something special because she can carry a gun. Oh, wow, if I wanted, I could shoot little bits of metal at stationary objects too!" Sydney smiled at Cordelia's rant, trying to imagine Cordelia's face if she were to find the pistol that was secreted in her suitcase.

"From the way she looked today, I'd say she likes Angel." Sydney wouldn't admit that she was stooping low enough to gather information about this Kate girl.

"Naw, she thinks he's a real dead-head." She paused, as though reconsidering her words. "I mean; Angel's not the type to go for a girl like that. And he doesn't get close to people. At all, really. He's got this really bad past that he doesn't talk about, but it isn't pretty, I can tell you."

"I see."

"Yeah, well, they met a few months ago when she thought he was going around killing people, and then they just started helping each other. She really is annoying, sometimes, though," Cordelia explained uncommitedly as she pulled a compact from the depths of her handbag and primped in the tiny mirror.

"So where did Wesley go?"

After Kate had stormed out of the office, Angel had swept into the room in her wake, a small grin just barely touching his lips. He'd grabbed a book off of the immense shelves and disappeared back into his office, the shut door signaling a want of silence.

And Wesley had mysteriously disappeared after Kate's exit; Sydney had been watching Angel and not the Brit in the corner.

"Oh, he's around. I think he went downstairs to clean up for Angel."

Sydney didn't respond, just watched silently as Angel slid out of the office, standing behind Cordelia. She was oblivious, concentrating on her lip-gloss, a shiny tube of something that smelled like strawberries all the way across the room.

Angel winked over Cordelia's head, and Sydney stifled the urge to laugh. Cordelia heard it though, and started to turn, jerking roughly when she found Angel right behind her.

"That's evil! You know you shouldn't go around sneaking around like that; especially when I'm trying to put on twenty dollar lip-gloss!"

A shrug, and then he was lounging on the couch just across from Sydney, his feet propped up in front of him. "So, what's going on today? Any important meetings you've scheduled without acknowledging me?"

Cordelia frowned down at her desk, shifting a few mildew-covered books. One she knocked with her elbow, and it fell towards the floor, saved when Angel deftly snatched it from midair, setting it back on its stack. More papers were jumbled about, pens and pencils rolling around the desktop. Sydney watched in amusement as Cordelia started grumbling to herself, the mayhem only getting worse as another book began to fall, this time taking an entire clump of papers with it, creating a confetti affect as they rained on the floor.

"No, there weren't any meetings, but I had some messages. One was from Giles; he sounded kind of flustered, even with the accent. And there was one from –"

The phone cut her off, and Cordelia snatched it off the cradle. "Hello, Angel Investigations. We help the hopeless."

Sydney raised an eyebrow at Angel, who returned it with a half-hearted smile. "_She came up with it,_" he mouthed.

"Uh-huh. Yes, just a moment. Let me check." Cordelia turned to Sydney, holding the phone out. "It's some guy called Vaughn? Says he's your friend?"

'_Oh no. This can't be good. How did he get this number? Dr. Ziggs didn't have it. I didn't have. I _still_ don't have it…'_ Sydney forced a smile to her face, knowing full well that it was strained and had gotten the attention of Angel.

She accepted the phone, pressing it to her ear with her shattered arm and focusing on the throbbing she could feel building below the bandages. "Hello?"

"Sydney?" Vaughn sounded either angry or worried; a combination that was all too familiar with her.

"Yes. Can I help you?" She shot a glance at Cordelia who was making no effort to hide her interest. She was leaning forward, eyes wide and she absent-mindedly fanned herself with one hand.

"He sounds hot!" She whispered to Sydney, nodding knowingly. "Invite him over!"

Vaughn's frenzied voice gained her attention again. "Yes, you can. You can get the hell out of there before we send in a team to extract you. This isn't safe; this is against protocol and you could get into a lot of trouble –"

"Vaughn."

"What?"

"Shut up for a moment. Arvin is fine with it. Please, get a grip and calm down."

"Arvin? Syd, what are you playing at? Stop this and get out of there. You'll get hurt again."

"No. I don't think I can go back to that warehouse and sit there while you lecture me. No, thank you, I've done that and I'm over it for a little while. That was your mistake, not mine. And if you try to guilt trip me again, I'll personally ask for a replacement." Sydney shot a look up and Angel to see if he was listening, but he was staring determinedly at the corner, dark eyes completely distant and not there.

Vaughn was silent, shocked. "Sydney, you're being unreasonable. This is dangerous. Please; or I will come myself."

"That's nice; you do that. I'll talk to you later too, okay?"

And then she hung up.

Cordelia was the first to speak, a smile touching her lips slightly. "You and him coworkers or something?" When Sydney didn't answer, she continued, "I know the type." Her dark eyes grew remote, concentrating on another time. "I had a real nice coworker. He was really…annoying, but he grew on you, you know? Like one moment I couldn't stand him, and the next I didn't want him to go…" She trailed off, her moment of emotional display over.

"What happened?" Sydney prompted; her voice soft.

"He…He did what he had come to do. And then he was gone. I…I guess I miss him."

Angel was still focused on the other side of the room. "We all miss Doyle."

Sydney smiled sadly. She knew all too well what it was like to lose friends. They defected, they died, they got caught. None of them were forever; some were for a day, two, and then they weren't anymore. Her life wasn't made for friends and fun, and that was something she was working around.

But then there was Vaughn; someone, who, Sydney almost hated to admit, was growing on her, too. He'd been so…frustrating, but now… He was someone Sydney could almost always count on, someone that would be there for her. Hesitant to admit it, Sydney was glad that he was her handler.

Recently, though, he'd changed. As though, it was becoming harder for him to send her out on missions, harder to tell her the bad news when something went wrong. It was like he was trying to protect her, shelter her from the life that she was living. Although sweet, it was rather …trying. She was a big girl, she knew what the consequences of her life; she knew what it was like to loose. And to have him baby her…

That might explain what had happened yesterday. SD-6 had sent her to Taiwan, searching for some information on missing warheads, on a black arms dealer. And there had been beefed up security measures; laser alarms and heat seeking cameras. She'd been made. But she escaped, came back, reported to Vaughn. He hadn't known about the details, but had worried. And she'd snapped, barking at him over his hovering. And he, under a lot of stress since he'd heard that she'd been found out, had chewed her a good one right back, no restraints. It'd wrecked havoc on Sydney; her handler screaming at her, she screaming right back. She hadn't wanted to hurt him, only to explain to him that she could take care of herself; that he needn't worry over her…

A moment had passed as all thoughts rested inside, remembering the past, and hoping for the future. Sydney blinked around the room, taking in Cordelia's bowed head, Angel's stony glare. All were silent, and all were torn between two times; one that was better and one that was moving forward around them.

"We all miss somebody." Sydney's voice spoke, but she didn't remember forming the words. They had slipped from her tongue without thought, and she silently cringed as they invaded the room. Her thoughts flew to Danny; someone she missed terribly.

His body, splayed in the bathroom, had haunted her dreams for months now, and was one of the only things that allowed her to stay sane in the charade that was her life. He had been the sacrifice for truth, the offering for honesty and justice. And taken from her, he was nothing now but a memory.

"We do. Some more than others, but…" Angel spoke again, his head violently turning away from the wall, staring instead at the opaque windows, their frosted panes not letting in any streams of sunlight, just a hazy cloud of light.

"But they changed us somehow." Again, Sydney spoke, this time reflecting upon long forgotten people, a handler who'd betrayed her, a lover who'd disappeared. Friends from her youth who'd twisted her words to be taken for harmful purposes to gain them popularity. Teachers who inspired her. Her father; a distant bundle of complexity that could never be spoken to without a strange sense of mockery being mirrored back in his response. As though she was something less because she didn't know what threatened the country.

She didn't think anything less of Angel and Cordelia because they didn't realize that a batch of nuclear missiles had gone missing two days ago and hadn't been recovered; something Arvin Sloane wanted very much to do. Or that a defector of the CIA had just spilled national secrets to Cuba and China, both of which were planning attacks against the weakened nation.

"Everyone changes us." Cordelia's voice jolted the thoughts of national security from Sydney's mind, and she looked up, startled.

Nobody answered, the minutes seeming to slow down. This was a time of reflection, and Sydney didn't want to think anymore. She didn't want to be immersed in painful memories that she had worked to categorize and put away, forcing herself not to remember.

When Wesley emerged from the office, a smile pressed onto his face, a stack of books tucked under one arm; it was as though the world, which had been put on pause, was playing again. A breeze seemed to blow through the room, ruffling reminiscences of past as they were tucked away and bringing to the surface the calm collectiveness that was shown to the world. The dark dealings just a few moments ago were swept away, the only ones changed those that had been there.

"I've cleaned the place up for you, Angel. I even took the liberty of putting a few more selections in your fridge for your guest. And I pulled all the books that you've been collecting down there and brought them up here." There was some sort of hidden meaning entwined with his words; something that Sydney was curious about.

"Thank you," Angel said, his voice slightly lighter and less…pained than before.

"It wasn't a problem."

Cordelia blew her nose, a loud noise that interrupted whatever he'd been about to say. "Oh, I'm sorry, is sucking up to your boss that important?" Although her words were harsh, Sydney could hear the slight vein of friendliness running below the surface.

Wesley didn't answer, only bobbed his head as he crossed to the bookshelves, putting the volumes away with an air of casual un-attachment that was aimed in Cordelia's direction.

* * *

It had been three days since Sydney had come to stay with him, and he found himself in dangerous territory. Time and time again he'd watch her sleep, feeling barriers crumble. He knew what he wanted; and it was something that he knew he couldn't give.

No, he wasn't interested in taking her for a lover; he instead wanted to share his life story, tell her the details of who and what he was. He wanted to tell the tale of his Buffy, to share the love that was his destiny, his downfall, his redemption. But he couldn't. She did not know of the evils that haunted the city, she was innocent in that aspect.

But he sensed the loss in her, the deepness of a soul that seemed so similar to his own. She, too, was alone. She had given so much to world and now had nothing for which to ask. What she wanted, she could not have, just as he could not have what he wanted.

A lover? No. But a friend, one who knows what thoughts were floating around before Angel even knew he was thinking them. It was almost that way now, Sydney smiling at him over the paper in the mornings, nodding before he even asked if she wanted breakfast. They talked of the world, of superficial things; he couldn't speak honestly about many things, and she didn't seem willing to share her views.

But for whatever she didn't share, there was something that they bonded over. Ice cream flavors, certain clubs, things that had no real impact on the world around them. It was just something to share.

And in between uncovering the silly things, Angel made surprising discoveries. She was good at lying, at hiding the truth. She had traveled the world, had seen people die. Someone close to her, a father, a mother, someone, had died when she was younger, and the others in her life had been distant. She'd been through some kind of hell, here on Earth, that would make her fall silent when he asked about trials and hardships. He could read her, the flash of her eyes when she was hiding something, the cock of her head when she was being as honest as she'd allow.

He was falling for her, not in love, but more than almost anything, he wished he could tell her the truth. He respected her; he wanted her to respect him, to share with him the story of her own life. She was someone that understood him as only one other had ever done. But his Buffy was elsewhere now, living a life that was her own, filling it with people and places that were full of light and laughter. He was glad; the snippets from Willow and Giles were reassuring. The dark corner of her life that had once been reserved for him was still off limits, a realm, Willow said, that Buffy guarded fiercely. She missed him, but was still trying to live life. And that, too, made him glad.

And occasionally, he would simply argue with Sydney as she pointed out some obscure thing he would have never noticed about himself, such as the habit he had of chewing his cheek when he thought. Even fighting was fun; she made random points that threw him off, and he would struggle to come up with a rebuttal.

That's what he found himself doing late on the third day, a hint of exhaustion settling around him like a blanket. He'd slept an hour or two the night before, after Sydney had gone to bed, but it was not normal for him to be asleep then, so he'd paced and read for the remainder of the night. And during the day, he found himself drawn into the activity upstairs, sitting in the shadows, but still taking part in the bantering. Cordelia was ecstatic to have someone to talk to about whatever it was that girls discussed, and Wesley was just glad to have Cordy off of his back.

"Oh, come on, that's not true," Angel said, frustration setting in.

"Yes, yes it is; I swear."

"You have not. It's an impossibility. There is no way."

"I have too! I'm serious; it's like, the most challenging thing I've done in my life, but I did it."

Even Wesley deemed this conversation up to his standards, and he joined it with a hearty vote in favor of Sydney's claims. "I believe that she may have done it."

Angel shook his head forcefully. "I bet she doesn't remember much of it."

"I betcha I do." She stuck her chin out ostensibly, smiling crookedly up at him.

"Not a chance. It took me nearly a year to do that. You couldn't have done it in five days," Angel spat, sounding unbelieving.

"I have. I did it! I swear to you; _War & Peace_ in five days. Not a lot of fun, I can tell you, but something I am proud to say I accomplished. And I only got six wrong on the final the next day, so don't say I didn't remember much of it." She sounded pleased that she had topped him at something; the pride showing in her eyes caused a surge of resounding happiness to flow in Angel's still veins.

"Have you ever tried reading it in Russian?" The question was tossed over Angel's shoulder as he poured a cup of coffee for himself, settling back in his chair to study her over the rim.

"No, but I've read Dostoyevsky in Russian."

Angel felt a smile creep onto his face even though he tried to force it away. "Well, now, obviously. It's usually _in _Russian, if you know what I'm saying."

She stuck her tongue out at him, catching him by surprise. "So tell me, Mr. Big Head, what haven't you read that I can best you in?"

"I haven't gotten around to reading _The Devil Wears Prada_, if you want to know the truth."

"Neither have I. How about –"

She never got to finish, the buzzer for the door harshly calling attention. Sydney raised her eyebrows in query at Angel as Cordelia rushed to the door. He watched with a crease of amusement pressed between his eyes as she leaned forward, trying to see who was there. Cordelia, who was just in Angel's line of view, was talking in low tones, leaning against the doorjamb in full flirt mode, something Angel hadn't seen in a long time.

When she gestured for whoever it was to come in, she turned, smiling broadly at no one in particular as she led the guest into the room. He – Angel could see him clearly now – was tall, six foot for an inch. With messy brown hair that would've rivaled Angel's for style, and piercing green eyes that looked just as wary as Sydney's first had, he reminded the vampire of his guest, her jaw now hanging near the floor as she, too, took in the visitor.

"What are you doing here?" Her tone was accusatory, angry and harsh, something that put Angel on guard. If she didn't want him here, then he wouldn't be staying.

Cordelia motioned towards the chair she had vacated, one that was facing Angel and Sydney. In a rough triangle shape, it allowed them to all speak to one another without having to move all that much, something Sydney admitted was rather painful. She was still sore from the fight she'd had.

"I'm here to check on you. And to deliver some news." Angel watched the man carefully, taking in the restrained manner and the flashing eyes.

"Great. Why didn't you call? I told you to call if you needed to speak with me," Sydney deadpanned, fully recovered from the shock of finding whoever it was at the door.

"This is urgent. Trust me."

Cordelia, standing just behind their guest, shifted from one foot to another, watching the exchange with interest. Sydney must have caught the motion from the corner of her eye, because she paused, glancing over at Angel.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't be so rude!"

"That's okay," The man began, also looking towards Angel, who was stretching luxuriously at the uncomfortable exchange. If he was demon, then these two were in love. Simple as that. He was just curious if they themselves knew it yet.

"Not you," Sydney spat at her caller, silencing him with an angry look. She turned back towards Angel, a forced smile chiseled into her stony façade. "Angel, I should introduce you to Michael Vaughn. Vaughn, this is Angel."

* * *

Oh, great. What if they hated each other? After all, it wasn't as if it was everyday that you introduce your handler to the man you're staying with while taking a few days off from the CIA to recuperate after being beaten by some kind of monster, right?

Angel smiled at Vaughn, holding a hand out to the younger man. Vaughn glared at it – Sydney was really starting to get annoyed with him – and then begrudgingly accepted it, shaking it firmly before releasing it.

She smiled happily. At least neither had pulled any weapons on the other yet.

"What was it that you wanted to share?" She turned back to Vaughn, an unfamiliar pang of homesickness burrowing into her gut. Vaughn was something she hadn't wanted to give up during the month she was taking; he was something that tethered her to reality.

But even though she was glad to see him, she still nettled as she remembered they things they had spat at each other in their anger. Her words had been meant to sting, just as his had been meant for the same purpose.

Vaughn settled into the chair he had taken, shifting as all eyes fell on him, waiting for a response. He didn't look away from Sydney, his light eyes taking in her injuries and softening as he realized how critical they were.

"Oh, Syd, I didn't know –" He began, only to be cut off by Sydney's outburst.

"No. You didn't know; and that was kind of the point. Okay?" She hadn't wanted him to show up and fawn over her; she wanted to appear strong, together around him, something she found that she did terribly. It was only around Vaughn that she ever broke down, his sympathetic eyes prodding her to share her sorrow.

He nodded, his eyes still darting over her face, taking in the bruises and the large gauze pad. If she knew Vaughn, which she was pretty sure that she did, he was feeling the guilt that Sydney couldn't wait to dump on him. But instead of making her feel even slightly happy, she felt guilty, too.

"So, what is it that you wanted to share?"

"You know the Rambaldi page that you...err, burrowed from Sloane?"

Sydney nodded, trying to ignore the rapid interest that his comment had generated. Wesley, who had previously been idly flipping through another of his books, looked up, dropping his glasses, which clattered on the desk. Angel was staring. Cordelia, however, seemed unaffected, still standing, frozen, behind Vaughn, her eyes locked on the window.

"Well, we've read it."

It was all he said, but she understood the implications. Something was up. Something that involved her.

"Oh?"

He nodded, a grave stature replacing the guilty one he'd shed moments before. "It's something, I feel, should, ah," he paused, glancing around the room before leaning forward, "should be discussed in a more private situation."

Unfortunately, the way he said it caused a red-hot spike of…something to shoot down her spine, and Sydney felt the blush highjack her face before she could hide it.

She fell silent, not used to being speechless. Angel cleared his throat, and Sydney watched, fascinated, as the room cleared, leaving Vaughn and her alone in the spacious area, something that hadn't seemed quite so big once Vaughn's impressive height had filled the doorway.

"What did it say?" Her voice came out rather strangled, and she choked back a cough, still trying to keep an angry face plastered on.

Vaughn didn't answer; he stood, pacing to the window, staring unseeing at the street. His nerves were affecting her, and she fought to stay in control. Vaughn, her Vaughn, her straight thinking, clear headed Vaughn, was never like this.

"Vaughn?"

He spun away from the window, face torn. "Syd, I…I'm not supposed to be here. But I had to come, to warn you… They read the paper, page 47, and they know what it says. I know, but I shouldn't. But what it said… Syd, I'm pretty sure you're in a lot of danger."

Sydney froze were she sat, looking up at Vaughn with a confused look on her face. Suddenly she grinned, a smile splitting her face as she beamed up at him, familiar dimples embedded in her cheeks.

"You're kidding me, right? This is some sort of elaborate set-up so I forgive you; it has to be. It's really funny though, almost. Except for the whole 'I'm lying to you,' thing."

His face didn't change, only grew stormier, if that was possible. "Oh, Syd, I'm not kidding. This isn't good; this is bad, and it isn't going to get any better. I need you to believe me. I need you to listen to me, okay?"

That settled it for her. Vaughn wasn't the type to pull a prank like this to begin with, and his worried stance made it all the more real. Something bad was coming.

"What," she paused, gulping in a deep breath, "What did the paper say?"

His head was bowed; his eyes distant; his voice sounded as though dragged from another dimension. "'This woman here depicted will possess unseen marks, signs that she will be the one to bring forth my works. Bind them with fury, a burning anger, unless prevented. At vulgar cost, this woman will render the greatest power unto utter desolation.'"

Silence fell, an oppressing blanket that covered everything. Sydney focused on breathing, trying to understand how a few words had gotten Vaughn this worked up.

"Vaughn," she said slowly, still not comprehending, "What has this to do with me?"

"Syd; they ran some tests when you were in the hospital after the attack; they wanted to see if you had the 'unseen marks' that signaled you out as the one the prophesy speaks of. And, well, you did. You had all three anomalies that were spoken of; the DNA sequencing, the platelet levels, and the size of your heart."

"But…me? Why me? How do you know that I'm this girl? I mean, a few characteristics that I fit; well, I'm sure there are thousands with the same thing!"

Vaughn shook his head slowly. "Syd, I saw the page. There's a portrait on the page of a young woman, a woman who looks, startlingly enough, just like you. I've seen it Syd; it's like a picture."

"No." It wasn't true; it _couldn't_ be true. "There has to be a hundred girls that look like me."

His next words were spoken softly in contrast to her loud ascertains. "Syd, I know your face better than I know my own. I see it in my dreams at night when you're away, risking your life for a cause you want no part of. I study it at debriefs, trying to understand your strength. This picture, this drawing, this…prophesy is _you_, Syd. You are the Chosen One."

Sydney shook her head, reeling back in her chair as though she had been hit. "No. Vaughn, this was written by some dead guy five hundred years ago. And you think I'm going to believe that it's about me? Me? No, this is so wrong. It isn't me. It isn't anybody; it's a joke, a prank, some mistake."

"There's more to the prophecy, Syd; more that proves that it's you."


	4. Inquiries

**Welcome to the City of Angels**  
Rating: Pg.13  
Blurb: An Alias/Angel crossover. Sydney is rescued by the mysterious Angel, Rambaldi makes a cameo, and relationships are set into motion. (Vaughn/Sydney, Angel/Buffy, and possible hints of Wesley/Cordelia)

Chapter 4: Inquiries_  
_

* * *

His office was really too small for all three of them to press into, but Angel didn't want to abandon Sydney by moving too far. So he stood, just inside the door, forcing himself not to listen to the mumble of voices. Instead, he hummed to himself, concentrating on his own slightly raspy voice. He wouldn't betray Sydney by listening in on her. He may have the talents to do just that, but he knew the consequences of doing that to a friend. So he wouldn't. All he did listen for was the raised voices that signaled angry words and flaring tempers.

Suddenly, Wesley, who had been standing next to Angel's desk with his head down, mumbling to himself, spoke up. "I know I've heard that name before. But where?"

Angel looked up at him, a mixed look crossing his face too. "You mean Rambaldi?"

"You…you've heard of Rambaldi? When? Where, for that matter?"

"The Master – the vampire who sired Darla – was always interested in prophesies. And before I was cursed, we used to…travel together. He had a strange fascination with a prophet called Milo Rambaldi. He had collected quite a few of his works; different pages of text and different inventions. It was clear that Rambaldi had a terrifying power at his fingertips. But after the Master was trapped in the Hellmouth, his collection was spread to the four corners of the Earth. A good thing too, as it was said that if all his works could be accumulated and assembled, a weapon would be created that would destroy the Earth."

"Yes, that's all fine, but _who_ was he? Was he a loon? Or a Seer?"

"Rambaldi was a prophet, someone who was said to have seen the coming apocalypse. He was also an inventor, and was so far advanced that the people had him burned at the stake as a heretic. I have also heard that he may have been a Watcher, one of the best of all time, but that may be added to his legend."

"And now this Vaughn character has information on him?"

Angel didn't answer, just bowed his head as he thought. Nothing came to mind.

It was Cordelia who came up with the bright idea on what to do. "Why don't you call Giles? I mean, he's this super research dude, and he did call you already. Return his call, and then ask him to research into this whole Rambo-prophet guy."

Both Wesley and Angel turned to her with some surprise recorded on their faces. "That's…that's actually a very good plan."

Cordelia huffed to herself, rolling her eyes as she settled into the chair Angel had tucked behind his desk. "Well, duh. I'm not stupid. And I'm not blonde, either."

Several minutes later, Angel was on the phone with Willow, who was trying to prod Xander into going to get Giles. When he finally picked up, he sounded breathless. "Hello, Rupert Giles speaking."

"Giles?"

Almost immediately, there was a shift in Giles' tone. He sounded almost wary. And exhausted. "Angel." A statement that sounded flat and humorless. "Thank you for calling back. However, at this time I'm in the middle of something rather important, so if you could call back in a few days, I'd be much obliged."

"End of the world demons." A word to the affirmative, and then, "Is that why Xander's lounging on your couch instead of his?"

"Actually, no. Xander says that he needed to get out of his house so he came here. Why is beyond me, but I stopped questioning him a long time ago."

"I'll be in touch later, then."

"Yes, right."

And then the line went dead in his ear, leaving Angel to stare at the phone as if it would magically reconnect. It did no such thing, and he set it back in the cradle, turning to face Cordelia and Wesley, both leaning forward curiously.

"Well? What did my genius plot uncover for you?"

"Nothing." Cordelia's face fell. "Giles was a tad preoccupied. World's going to end, demons going to feed, people going to die. You know; typical Sunnydale afternoon fodder."

Both nodded knowingly. "I'm so glad I'm not trapped in that boring day in, day out 'save the world again and again' spiel. I mean, nobody ever knows. And that means no well wishers to give, say, I don't know, generous rewards to those that rescue them."

Wesley, who had been about to say something but was cut off by Cordelia's rant, looked at her with some shock. "Cordy, that's very…what's the word I'm searching for?"

"Tactless?" Angel filled.

"Noble?" Cordelia offered.

"Not quite... No. Selfish; that's it."

Angel grinned behind his hand as Cordelia shot Wesley a withering glare. "Do you have a death wish?"

Wesley, who had taken to polishing a rather large looking battle-axe that Angel had forgotten underneath his desk, hefted it in the air.

That answered her question.

* * *

"More to it? There's more to this prophecy?"

"Yes." Vaughn crossed back to his chair, perching on it stiffly. "Yes, there's more. They haven't gotten it all decrypted, but all that they have points directly to you, and then someone without breath…or something like that. Sydney, you're in a lot of danger when they discover what it says."

Sydney didn't answer, eyes focused on the window, mind running over what Vaughn was telling her.

"Syd, you've got to listen to me," He knelt next to her chair, one hand floating tentatively above her knee. She watched it, sole attention fixed on fingers that dipped closer and closer to her leg, before snapping back as though burned.

"They've implanted you with a tracking device. It won't be activated for another 48 hours, so you have time to find it and get rid of it. I don't know where, I'm sorry. You have to do this, and send it far from here. I would try to move you somewhere else, but your injuries… And this should be a haven as long as the tracker isn't here."

"Vaughn?" Her voice came out soft and weak, causing the hand that held her attention to fly to cradle her cheek. She felt exhaustion settle about her and drain her strength. "All I wanted was a normal life. I wanted to grow up and teach, and get married and have kids. But then I was a spy, for the bad guys, and I'm a spy for the good guys too, and now supposedly I'm going to destroy the world."

Vaughn's eyes burned green fire as they locked with hers. "I will make sure that you have that life, sometime in the future. But first, Syd, you've got to make it through this. Be strong for this one last thing. You can't fail yet; do you hear me?"

Sydney gave a small nod, words failing her at the passion glowing in Vaughn's eyes. She blushed under his intense scrutiny, and burrowed her cheek further into his gesture. Right before he went to pull away his hand, she turned and caught the center his palm with her lips, pressing a kiss there.

As laugh lines crinkled the skin around his eyes, and Vaughn smiling down at her, she felt a weight that had pressed at her since their fight lift away.

"I'm sorry."

Their voices overlapped as they spoke, one flashing gold, the other silver.

"I'm sorry, Vaughn, it's just that after I got back, Sloane gave me hell about it, and I couldn't very well tell him that his Intel would've gotten me killed, and that I had used the CIA's information, which was so much better than his. And then I came in and you were so worried, and I can't have you fret so much over me. You'll get into trouble, and they'll replace you, and then where will I be?"

A moment passed where their eyes remained locked as her words began to sink in, the depth of her meaning not hidden to Vaughn, who spoke with a similar meaning hidden underneath his words, thinly veiled to Sydney's eager ears.

"I can't just stop caring. You have so much to fight, and that scares me. I'm even worried when you're sitting in SD-6 because you could get discovered, and we couldn't help you then. Like it or not, I'm always going to be concerned about you. And I'm sorry, too, for what I said. I was worried, yes, but you looked so…small and scared. I didn't want you to think that you could just go back out there and be okay. I wanted to keep you safe. Protect you from whatever was causing you to look so haunted."

After the apologies, they sat quietly, letting the wounds heal. The anger that had been evident before disappeared and warmth took its place.

At least they were friends again.

Eventually, Sydney grew uncomfortable; her injuries itched and she could feel the twinge of pain awaken in her arm, meaning it was time for another painkiller. She smiled up at Vaughn, then spun towards the office door and reached for the handle.

A few seconds later had them all in the lobby, Angel speaking in low tones to Vaughn about Sydney's injuries, while Wesley fought with the pill bottle, trying to get the childproof lid off. Cordelia was supposedly filing some paperwork, but was instead watching Wesley with a gleam in her eye, the humor not lost on the young woman.

Sydney, meanwhile, was trying, and failing, to scratch under the cast, something that she knew was futile.

"Well, then. I'd better go. Syd, I don't know if I'll be able to call," Vaughn paused, shooting a gaze that said it all to her. He might not be able to call because the CIA would be tracing all his contacts. They wanted Sydney, and they knew that Vaughn was a link to her. "But I will try. Please, keep safe. And listen to Angel if he tells you not to use that arm. And don't walk either, not until your ankle's a little stronger, okay?"

She smiled as he rambled on, warning her not to hurt herself anymore than she already was. "I know, Vaughn, I know. I already have Angel cutting my food for me. Don't worry; you just keep yourself safe."

"I know I worry. It's something I have to work on. Good-bye, Syd. I'll talk to you later."

And then he was gone, disappearing through the door with a wave, causing the room to expand as his presence left.

Almost immediately, Cordelia pounced on the chair across from Sydney, eyes wide. "Who is he?"

"A coworker. Kind of a superior, who, you know, shouldn't really have come to see me. It's kind of against office rules. But he wanted to tell me about what happened while I was gone, and to check on me…"

She trailed off, not wanted to mention that it was also against the law of the United States; being that he had come to tell her about the threat against her.

Cordelia spoke again, excitement painted onto her face. "Wow. That's, like, super romantic. Kind of stalker like, but still romantic. Don't you think so, Angel?"

They both turned to find Angel extracting the pill bottle from Wesley's grip, popping it open and dumping two into his hand. He passed them to Wesley, who handed them to Cordelia, who set them on the table next to Sydney, who was trying to suppress a smile at the assembly line they produced.

"Angel?"

He looked up from where he was filling a glass with juice from the fridge, somewhat confused. "What? Did I miss something?"

"Yes. Don't you think so, Angel?"

"Think what?" He was lost, eyebrows drawn so close together it looked as though they would fuse.

"That it was romantic how her boss came all this way to see her, even though it's against their rules and everything?"

"Oh, that." He paused, handing the juice off to Sydney. "Yes, it's very romantic that he feels the need to come all the way across town to talk about paperwork," he teased.

Sydney rolled her eyes at him, throwing the pills back with practiced ease. She did choke on them, however, when Angel said, just as seriously, "Because we all know what happens when people talk about paperwork _alone_."

"No way," she sputtered through her juice, fighting to keep it from running down her chin. Some escaped, and she grabbed a fistful of Angel, catching him by surprise, and hauled him towards her to wipe the excess on his shirt, leaving a spot of apple juice.

He pulled out of her grip and surveyed the damage, laughing as she spewed at him. "That isn't very nice at all, and you should know that I'm in no condition to be jumping people's bones, let alone Vaughn, not to mention you guys _were_ in the next room and I knew that, so I wouldn't have tried anything anyways."

"But if we weren't in the next room?"

Sydney stared, mouth hanging open in shock. "What do you take me for? That's mean, and I don't think I'll be talking to you for the rest of the day."

Cordelia struggled to retain a laugh behind her hand, but failed miserably as she squealed. "Oh, you know he's joking. He's just being mean because he's wildly jealous. He wants Vaughn, too."

It was Angel's turn to visit the happy land of denial, but he gave up after Wesley joined the girls in the teasing, effectively putting the vampire at a disadvantage.

* * *

Later that night, Angel headed downstairs with Sydney's medications and creams; a book tucked under one arm. The majority of the lights were already out, the only glow spilling onto the floor from his open bedroom door, where he found her.

The room, once a place where only a morning was passed in restless sleep for Angel, was now the unofficial haven for Sydney. Angel had relocated to the living room, where he passed the night curled on the couch, either reading or napping.

The bed was still neatly made; just the way Sydney had left it that morning. It was unusual; habitually he would find her burrowing under the covers, trying to find a position to sleep in; the cast and the sling made it difficult to maneuver comfortably. Angel would appear, and the doling out of medication was handled, followed by the cream applications, and then the re-bandaging of her wounds.

But tonight she was standing at the foot of the bed, muttering to herself incoherently. When she heard Angel, she spun around. Her ankle, still encased in miles of gauze bandages, was stuck out in front of her. A crutch supported her weight and allowed her to maneuver without putting pressure on the swollen tendons.

"Oh! I didn't realize that it was you. I mean, I just…" Her hands flew out to shrug, as if to say that she didn't know what to do.

She was upset about something. "Syd, what's bothering you? I'll do whatever I can to help you, you know that, right?"

Although she still looked troubled, she nodded. "I know. It's just…if you help me, you can't…you can't ask questions. I need you to do this, okay? Just don't ask."

"Okay." His curiosity was pricked.

He watched, dumbfounded, as she turned away from him, and slid her robe down her arms, revealing a toned, trim back. A solemn face appeared over her shoulder as she spoke to him. "I need you to look for something. Something that someone put in me. I need you to look for a tiny bead-like object that's under my skin. Can you do that?"

A nod, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a count of five before opening them, somewhat surprised to find her still standing there. Without warning, he found himself behind her, a hand snaking out to make contact.

The moment he touched her skin, he could feel her pulse thundering just below the surface. And it was warm – something he hadn't the luxury of knowing anymore. She shivered at the contact, his hands being so cold.

He had seen glimpses of other scars as he treated her injuries, but this skin was innocent. There were no past reminders here to mar the purity of her back. Muscles were bunched below the surface, and he saw again the strength of this woman.

And then he found what he had been searching for; just along her shoulder blade; a bump, nothing bigger than a pebble.

"I think I found it. Now what?"

She swallowed before answering. "Remove it."

Time seemed to freeze as the implications around that statement arose. "Remove it? How?"

He knew the answer before she spoke. "Cut it out. I need you to get it out of me."

Almost mechanically, he stepped away and found a knife, pulling it from its sheath. The blade flashed in the low lights. Angel lit a candle, running the cutting edge through the flickering flame. Then he turned back to Sydney, who was still watching him over her shoulder.

He forced himself to think of nothing; the blood that was going to be shed was going to be a temptation; animal blood didn't quench the urge to feed from humans. Slowly, the knife raised itself to lie where Angel had found the thing under her skin.

When the blade finally sunk into her flesh, she only flinched, a cascade of tremors running down her back. Crimson blood streaked southward, but Angel ignored it. His attention was reserved solely for his task. After careful probing, he removed the bead-like object, hardly glancing at it before setting it aside and pressing a length of gauze to the wound.

"Did you find it?"

"Yes."

"Let me see."

"No." Angel reached to were the bandages were kept, next to the bed in a basket that Sydney had produced from a back corner of his rooms. "Let me patch you up first. I can't have you bleeding all over the place."

He didn't want to hurt her, but he could feel her tense under the slightest pressure. He bandaged the wound as quickly as he could, the bleeding slowing, but only slightly.

After giving the medical tape a final pat, he stepped away, allowing her to turn. She immediately dove for the thing he had pulled out of her back, rolling it about in the palm of her hand to look at it through the crimson sheen of her own blood.

"Is that what you were looking for?"

She nodded, eyes still fixed on the small object, no bigger than the eraser end of a pencil.

"This would've gotten us all killed. And now, I have one more favor to ask, if it's not too much."

For some reason, he didn't mind helping her out. He settled himself against the dresser; a corner burrowing into his back uncomfortably. "What can I do to help you?"

A small smile touched her lips, just enough to express her appreciation before being canceled out by the furrows that pressed into her forehead. "I need you to," she stopped, looking away from him. She didn't want to say it; but her anxiety was easily read in her body language, something unusual for the still Sydney. She never let anything slip, her secrets played close, being unreadable and guarded. "I need you to take this someplace far, far away. Send it away, ship it away, flush it away for all I care, just get it away from this place. Out of Los Angeles. Can…can I entrust this to you?"

Angel nodded, holding out a hand to accept it. She looked at it for a moment longer before pressing it into his hand and turning away, attention now focused solely on Angel's tray, a silver piece that held the various medications and ointments that she now had to put up with.

Whatever she had handed him was small, but something that looked technologically advanced to Angel's untrained eyes. It resembled a grain of rice or an elongated bead, and it was crafted of some metal. Angel examined it closely, trying to divine the reason for Sydney's panic over such a small thing.

"I'll get rid of it for you, don't worry. I'll have it sent away in the morning, to the farthest corner of the Earth. Does that relieve your worries?"

Sydney nodded, not turning away from her preoccupation with the materials in front of her. She was meticulously rearranging the supplies, the pill bottles in a neat line, with the creams aligned alongside them.

Putting the gadget down, Angel paced towards where Sydney was standing. "Now that that's all taken care of, we'd better get on with the torture."

Sydney turned, just slightly, the ghost of a smile touching her features. It was a joke between them; Angel caring for her as she made mocking comments about the pain and unfairness of it all. Yet another set of meaningless conversations that contained nothing important, just jokes that were pointless and made only to bond over.

"Let's commence, then. I haven't anything better to do." She stretched luxuriously on the bed covers, then held out her broken arm, the bandages still fresh from their change the day before.

A sly grin hinted just around the corners of Angel's mouth, but he fought to suppress the urge to smile openly at her drawling accent that played with her words carelessly, making her sound like the pampered dame of a southern mansion.

The wrapping uncoiled easily enough, revealing the gauze pads underneath that were crusted over with blood. Sydney wrinkled her nose at it, but didn't look away as he peeled it off, revealing the raw flesh underneath. Without the caked gore that had obscured it the night of the attack, Angel could clearly see the broken skin that crossed her forearm in viscous slashes. Antibiotic ointment was slathered on, causing a slight tightening of features before Sydney let out a slow breath.

As Angel rewrapped it, careful not to disturb the new gauze padding, she finally looked away, staring off into the corner as she breathed deeply, obviously trying to ignore the newly awakened flashes of pain.

"There; we're done with that one."

She rolled her eyes at him, blowing a strand of brown hair out of her eyes. "Yeah, but we've still got to do my eye, and then there's my ankle. Not to mention the horrible task to come that involves me gagging on numerous pills. Have I mentioned that I hate pills with a vengeance?"

He nodded, not making eye contact as he focused on the bandage taped above her eye. It was easier to redo this one; the tape peeled away easily enough, the cut not so deep as those on her arm. Sydney always tried to make him laugh while he treated this wound; crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue at random intervals. Nothing would make him break his concentration, something much to the disappointment of Sydney.

When he finished, she slumped back against the pillows, watching as Angel sorted out the medications. He was counting them, making certain that she had the right amount of each; two pain pills, one green antibiotic, one blue, three of a yellow pill that helped the bone in her arm set, and one red and black pill that really had no obvious purpose to Sydney, but something that she took anyways.

They were handed off to her, and she popped two into her mouth, swallowing them with a sip of water before following with two more. Luckily, focusing on gulping down mountains of pills allowed her to ignore the shivers of pain that danced up her leg as Angel unwrapped her ankle.

She did jump, however, when the cold cream startled her, causing her ankle to jolt out of his grip.

"That was wildly uncomfortable," she said flatly as he continued rubbing the balm onto her swollen ankle, the coldness almost relieving some of the twitching pain.

"But it was fun."

She stuck her tongue out at him again, finishing off the pills with a self-satisfied grin as Angel fought another smile. He was the one that leapt back in surprise when Sydney unceremoniously dumped her remaining water down his back.

When he turned to confront her, she shrugged. "But it was fun," she mocked, feigning innocence.

* * *

"You know this means war, right?" He didn't look mad, just shocked that she could have gotten away with such an act.

Sydney laughed into her hand, trying to muffle it as a cough. "Please; I don't want to fight." When Angel didn't look fazed by her half-real plea, she continued with a devilish glint in her eye, "I just want to win!"

"Yea, like a little injured girl could win against me," he scoffed, acting macho.

Instead of feeling insulted at his egotistical ways, she saw right through them and started to laugh, making Angel's façade crumble slightly, as he, too, felt the urge to dissolve into laughter.

"I'm sorry," she forced out between gasps for air, "It's just, you…you looked so serious…and…and I don't know, just….just so…so silly…that I 't help but…but laugh."

Angel brushed off her apology with an airy wave, holding the tube of anti-inflammatory gel out for her to see. She heaved a stage sigh and rolled over, readjusting the robe so he had access to the shoulder, which was now covered in a rather large and awkward looking gauze bandage.

She jumped again at the chill that raced down her spine at first contact, but then settled into some disturbing thoughts. What if there was a connection between the tracking device that Angel had just removed and her disjointed shoulder? Would Dr. Ziggs have done something like that to her? Quite possibly, considering that he was so loyal to the CIA… But how could he do that to her and then smile at her like there was nothing wrong between them?

Whoever did it, whenever it had happened; it bothered her to no end. The thought that, at a CIA secure hospital, she could be implanted with a tracker without any knowledge of it frightened her.

"There. I think you are well on your way to recovery. And now, I shall retire, leaving you to your sleep." Angel's gentle voice pulled her from her thoughts, at the same time alarming her.

"Angel?" Her voice came out sounding defenseless, and she battled a backbone into it. "Could you just…just sit with me until I fall asleep?" She didn't want to admit that she, Sydney Bristow, decorated officer of two of the toughest agencies in the known world, was scared. Not of the dark, not of evil minions of the night, but of being betrayed. Someone betrayed her when they put that thing into her, and the feeling didn't settle well with her.

He didn't answer, only reached behind him for a chair that was tucked into the corner, settling into it with a heavy look that wrecked havoc on Sydney. Suddenly she felt jittery, the need to speak to Vaughn overwhelming.

Angel must have read it in her eyes – that was the only explanation – for he cocked his head curiously. "How long have you known him?"

"Him?" she repeated, somewhat surprised at Angel's abrupt question. "You mean Vaughn? I've known him for half a year or so. Though it seems much longer than that. He's just someone that's always been there for me, someone I can say anything to because he knows what I'm thinking and he knows what to say. He's…he's the only thing that ever makes sense, the only thing I can count on. Although, now I have you and Cordy and Wesley, but it's different with him. I…I have this connection with him, and we're just so in tune with each other. I can't…I can't explain…I…"

She trailed off; suddenly embarrassed at all that she had spilled for Angel to poke through. He didn't seem to notice that she had stopped; just sat, with his eyes fixed above her head, nodding reassuringly.

"I mean, I know it doesn't make any sense, all that about being in tune, or whatever, but – "

"I know exactly what you mean," Angel interrupted, a slight frown hovering along his set lips. "There was this girl, this beautiful, amazing girl, that I…I knew… She knew me, I knew her… We were just so…in sync that it was a little creepy sometimes."

Sydney sat, silent, running over the cache of new information on the mysterious Angel that he had just voluntarily dumped into her lap. The knowledge that he was opening up to her excited her, and she fought to keep the emotion out of her voice.

"Whatever happened to her?"

Angel didn't answer right away. When he did, his voice was far, far away. "She's living happily ever after, something I can't say the same about for me."

The silence crept over them, making minutes pass in what seemed like seconds, time slipping by without a backwards glance as they thought and remembered. Visible pain was evident on Angel's face, and Sydney studied it, fascinated by this new facet to her savior.

"You love her."

"And you love him."

Sydney opened her mouth to object, but found, in that instant, that she couldn't. She would be lying if she were to deny it. And she couldn't do that.

Because she did. She did love him.

Vaughn meant the world to her, and she would do anything for him. It hit her with a startling clarity that brought forth a confused and muttered, "Nyuh," before she fell silent again.

She loved Vaughn.


	5. Unexpectedly Expected

**Welcome to the City of Angels**  
Rating: Pg.13  
Blurb: An Alias/Angel crossover. Sydney is rescued by the mysterious Angel, Rambaldi makes a cameo, and relationships are set into motion. (Vaughn/Sydney, Angel/Buffy, and possible hints of Wesley/Cordelia)

Chapter 5: Unexpectedly Expected_  
_

* * *

Angel smiled to himself at the surprised expression on Sydney's face. She was realizing the desires of her heart, and in the process, discovering who she was. The play of emotions that danced across her face after the first astounding revelation were quick in succession; first denial, then acceptance, embarrassment and then pride, and finally hope. 

She had the one thing that Angel could never have; a dream for the future with the one she loved. The stark reality hit him with clarity. She had hope.

"I guess I do." Her voice was filled with awe, smooth and low, just touched by the slightest breath of rapture, coloring her words.

"I know you do. Now, go to sleep."

She shot him a slightly annoyed look, but readjusted her pillow and wriggled into a comfortable position, her eyes already fluttering closed. "How," she paused, stifling a yawn, "How did you know?"

"I knew the moment I saw the way you looked at him."

A smile played along her lips, her eyes shut. "And how did you know that you loved her?"

Angel didn't speak, only sat, focused on another time; one were Buffy didn't know of him, but he knew of her, watching her as she was brought into the darkness and taught what haunted the night. He had known the moment he had saw her, the light dancing around her, caressing her as he knew he would never have the privilege of doing.

He put his thoughts into words, editing out the part about the evil she had been chosen to fight, knowing that the pain he felt was still evident in what he was saying.

"She must love you," Sydney said, eyes glancing up at him as he finished, admiration portrayed openly. "I mean, you love her so deeply. She would be a fool not to feel the same."

Her words weren't meant to sting, but they awoke a primal need to escape, the pain from remembering too strong to fight. Angel shook his head, looking into the next room vacantly. "She shouldn't love me. She can't love me. I hurt her."

Sleep was beginning to steal its way into Sydney's head, for her words were soft, almost inaudible as she spoke again. "She must love you," she repeated, her voice gentle. "Oh Angel, I think she does. I know she does. I can…can feel it."

And then she was asleep, her breath slowing as she melted away from this world, melding into the next; the one of dreams and imaginings.

Angel stood, looking down at Sydney. "I wish you were right. I wish…" But he stopped himself, not trusting the words that would come out next. He could never have that life again; he had lost that right a long time ago.

So, he turned and headed for the door, settling himself in the sitting room without opening his book, his thoughts of a spry blonde who threw a nasty right hook.

* * *

The dawn light didn't find Sydney, as she was practically entombed in the dark recesses of Angel's bedroom. The lack of windows made her curious, but she refused the urge to question her host's love of the darkness.

A clock on the wall said it was seven. She eased to a sitting position, still aware of the slight haze of medication that played with her vision. Groping forward, blinking to clear her eyes, she found her wheelchair and yanked it to her.

She settled into it, rolling it towards the elevator without bothering to search the depths of her suitcases for a mirror. It had taken two days of confusedly rolling all over the apartment before realizing that Angel didn't keep mirrors. The reason was lost on her, but she hadn't said anything about it.

The offices upstairs were rosy and bright, the filtered sunlight creating a halo around Cordelia and Wesley, both talking in low tones by the coffee machine. Angel wasn't to be found, but the closed door to his office gave her a clue as to where he was.

"Good morning!" Cordelia said, already pouring another cup of her coffee and passing it to Sydney. She accepted it with a smile, easing her wheelchair against the wall and setting the brake.

"Morning. What's going on this bright day? New case?" Usually Wesley's face wasn't quite so stressed. Even Cordelia looked out of sorts, her hair a tad mussed and a crease of worry etched between her eyes.

"Not really. It's just…" She stopped at a look that Wesley shot her, shrugging as if that were going to satisfy Sydney's curiosity.

"Just what?"

Cordelia heaved a sigh, rotating the coffee mug in her hands to distract herself. "It's just that Angel got this call from Gil – an acquaintance – from up north, and now he's all broody again. I'm kind of worried. Usually correspondence from Sunnydale doesn't leave him quite so down in the mouth."

"I see."

Wesley huffed into his cup and strode across the room, settling himself on the couch. He picked up a book, holding it in front of him so that the girls couldn't see him. Cordelia turned to Sydney, who shrugged at her. They both dissolved into giggles, which resulted in the book being lowered a few inches as Wesley glared at them over the binding.

Suddenly the door to the inner office shot open, revealing Angel framed in the doorway, a dark scowl sculpted into his usually neutral countenance.

"Wesley? Can I speak to you for a moment?"

The thin man shot off of the couch like a bullet, skittering past Angel before the door slammed shut behind them. Sydney turned to Cordelia, eyes wide.

"You don't think he'll hurt him, do you?"

Cordelia, the lines in her forehead now gone, turned back to the coffeepot, pulling a box of pastries from underneath the counter. "Nope. He hasn't seen Buff lately, so Wesley's pretty much safe. Unless he stole some of Angel's hair gel. Then that boy is dead."

Sydney laughed, the worry not completely disappearing. "That's good."

Cordelia shrugged; a powdered doughnut already half gone. After swallowing, she spoke. "I mean; Angel _did_ finally get a chance to talk to Giles this morning, so that may have something to do with Mr. Scowly."

"Giles?"

"Oh, Giles is this ex-librarian who knows everything. Does research and stuff; knows things."

"I see." This was Sydney's neutral response; an automatic answer that wasn't probing, but invited an explanation.

Cordelia's response was interrupted by Wesley, who came flying out of the office like a bat out of hell. Both women looked up at him as he raced for the bookshelves, pulling books off and flinging them away after giving them half a glance.

"Wesley? What are you doing?" Cordelia sounded serious.

He didn't even pause as he continued trashing the bookshelf, stopping only when he held a rather beaten up volume in his hands. The cover was water stained and warped, the title a smear of symbols that made no sense to either one of the surprised girls who watched with slightly amused looks on their faces.

"What you got there?" Cordelia asked, stepping forward.

Wesley just nodded absentmindedly before turning to go, exiting into Angel's office without a backwards glance.

A sliver of pain was burning in her ankle, passing judgment on her late rising hour. Another dosage of painkillers was needed an hour and a half ago. Sydney shifted it, trying hard not to grimace as a dart of engulfing fire shot up her leg.

Cordelia shifted behind the desk, unconsciously moving papers around, her eyes still looked on Angel's door. "Don't mind Wes. He and Angel just aren't themselves today."

"That's an understatement."

* * *

Angel buried his face in his hands. If he still had a heartbeat and a craving for oxygen instead of blood, he knew that his head would be ready to explode, migraine style.

His morning had been spent on the phone. Giles, after assisting in the soon to be Olympic sport of saving the world, putting in a record number of hours trapped among his books, had called back.

There was another prophecy.

When Angel had heard that, everything seemed to freeze. The last time there had been a prophecy; Buffy had died. So, prophesies meant death. And death equaled bad. And bad was not good. Especially now that Angel was nowhere near Sunnydale to ride to her rescue like the errant knight he liked to play.

But this time, Giles wanted to make it personal.

"How does this involve me?" Angel had asked, stunned by what Giles was implying.

"Oh, right, yes. During some reading I was doing lately, I came across a prophecy that I believe may have some relation to you. It's not the original text by any means – those were lost, and a long time ago at that – but I thought you should know about it. It was written by a man by the name of Rambaldi."

"Rambaldi?"

"Yes. You know of him? Any way, this prophecy refers to two people. 'The Chosen One,' and another, 'The One without Breath.' I normally would have questioned your relation to any of this," Giles continued, answering the unasked questions Angel had been about to voice. It wasn't as though Buffy never encountered dead things; she practically lived with them. There were a lot of things that surrounded her that didn't breath. Angel hadn't been the first, and definitely wasn't the last, at least according to Willow's input.

"I normally would have questioned your relation to any of this, but what the prophecy said seems very…applicable to your situation." Giles didn't need to make it any clearer.

"What did it say?"

"'The Chosen One and the One without Breath will meet as destruction is in the air. Their souls will merge as they recognize the familiarity of the other's. Their lives will become as one before separating into two; thus, the end of time will begin. Utter desolation and the destruction of all lies directly in their path.'"

Angel hadn't been able to think of anything to say; his words had fled, leaving behind only a scattering of thoughts that had nothing to do with what Giles was trying to tell him.

"Angel? Angel, are you still there?"

Somehow, miraculously, Angel had finished that conversation without making too much of a fool out of himself. He didn't hang the phone up, however, only stared at it as though it would come to life and make everything all right again.

So now, Angel was going to cause the end of the world because he loved Buffy; because his soul had screamed for the connection with the one woman he'd ever loved, the apocalypse would come. He was guessing that it wasn't going to look too good when it was all tallied up at the end of the day – ending the world was a definite no-no.

It wasn't a big surprise that the vampire was a little cranky when he'd called for Wesley's assistance in researching Rambaldi and his prophecies.

And now the Brit was standing on front of him, clutching a large volume to his chest as he waiting for Angel to speak. A gesture of dismissal, and the book was laid in front of him, the cover twisted and bowed. Symbols that made sense to a forgotten race of demons that had long since disappeared lined the leather, and Angel traced his fingers over them, thinking hard.

This book, this collection of fortunes and predictions from centuries long forgotten, was something that Angel had found, hidden away, in a corner of a oddities store downtown after a long search for a prized and rare Egard burial dagger.

He lifted the cover, expecting to see pages as wrinkled and battered as the cover. Instead, they were snow white, crisp and clean. Their edges were sharp, the writing in neat lines that looked vaguely familiar.

And embossed in the middle of the first page, etched into the paper so that it stood out like a Braille letter, was an insignia that Angel remembered from his exploits a long time ago. It was Rambaldi's mark; 0 .

"This is the book, isn't it?"

Angel nodded, his attention focused solely on the symbol. "This is it." He paused, then looked up to shoot Wesley a heavy glare that seemed to size the demon hunter up. "And now I have a favor to ask of you."

* * *

Almost a week later found Sydney motoring around on a pair of crutches Wesley had produced after disappearing for several days to do God knows what. One day he had been there, and the next he was gone.

Cordelia said it was business, but with the strained looks that passed between Angel and Cordelia at any mention of Wesley, Sydney was beginning to suspect that the British man was doing something either dangerous or illegal. The question was which one?

And when Wesley had arrived, spewing about the injustice of rain in a town called Sunnydale, Sydney had welcomed him back with the rest of the crew, smiling and acting as though she wasn't curious beyond all belief.

Sydney, however, knew more about reconnaissance than she cared to admit. That was how she discovered that Wesley stared at the wall more than he did his books. And Angel made late night phone calls that he thought she didn't hear, talking in low tones about some girl named Buffy. Cordelia was the only one that acted halfway normal, but even she seemed tense and nervous.

Angel had taken to shooting disproving looks her way as she teetered around the offices, learning to maneuver without knocking into anything. Cordelia only encouraged her; while Wesley remained distant, seemingly busy researching on whatever it was that was plaguing the lot of them. She had abandoned the sling, working around the stiff muscles carefully, trying to regain mobility without reinjuring anything.

It was a hazy day in Southern California, one where sunshine couldn't battle through the clouds and it wouldn't quite rain and make the entire day a waste. It was depressing weather. But Sydney loved it. She couldn't explain the familiarity she had for the low clouds and darkness that overtook the city earlier than usual. Maybe it was because she knew that the veil of clouds was only a disguise for the sun, something that would be awake again tomorrow.

While Wesley and Cordelia both looked down in the mouth, Sydney was as happy as a lark. This was going to be a good day, she could just tell. Even Angel had shed his dark mood and was sitting in the lobby, coffee in one hand, a magazine in the other.

He seemed to like the weather, too, something that only deepened the respect that she had grown for her host.

This Angel character, the mysterious and handsome bundle of complexity was really starting to grow on her; much as Vaughn had. In the beginning, she found him nice enough, but oddly silent. Too dark, too mysterious, too complex. She couldn't read him as she could the others. He was silent and still, always watching, always waiting.

It unnerved her how he reminded her of herself; so _focused_, so _in tune_. He would make one hell of a spy, that she knew. He could, just by looking at you, get you to want to talk, to spill secrets.

It had taken time for her to adjust to his intense ways. Now, instead of the heavy looks that once intimidated her, she knew that he was just seeing. Actually seeing, seeing the language that wasn't verbal; the gestures and the twitches that spoke of the depth of a person.

And now she respected him as she respected very few. This Angel, unexplained as he was, had a loyalty that stretched beyond the barriers of his office. Why, that one night, Angel had pried himself off of his couch to go and see to Cordelia who had phoned with a splitting migraine. And he had helped Wesley when the British man had a problem with some thugs downtown.

Angel had befriended her. She confided in him what she could; never telling him what she wanted to, but instead opening up about the inane things in life. And he was the same. Silly, stupid things that had no real point were all they had.

Through this, Sydney discovered some of Angel's demons. He was running from a past he couldn't forget – she had seen the haunted look in his eye at the mention of family, the mention of friends. And he knew love; she knew that from their midnight chat several days back. And he knew pain, knew grief, knew remorse, but most of all, he seemed to know guilt. What for was still beyond her realm of collected knowledge, but she wanted to know.

She wanted to know more about him. Where he came from, for the slightest hint of a lilt remained, drawn out only in times of great emotion, times of hurried banter, times of worried conversations. She wanted to know why he was; what kept him ticking, what made him eager to greet the dawn.

But most of all she wanted to know who he was. Yes, she knew he was Angel, P. I., hero at large, but she didn't know his biggest mistake, his happiest moment, his greatest loss.

What she wanted to was share everything with him. She wanted to tell him of Vaughn; all the somber details, the missions he devised that could wind up with her dead in a hundred different scenarios. She wondered what Angel would think of her father, of Arvin Sloane. Would he laugh, as she had, over the backwards way SD-6 handled her, their resident mole? And would he bristle when he heard of the slaughter of Danny?

She trusted Angel with almost everything she had. Yes, he was hiding something, but so was she. And the part of her that didn't trust him was built that way; trained to rely on herself and no one else. Everyone was loyal to themselves at some point; and Sydney knew better to place everything she had on one man, different as he seemed.

Her day had been going well enough, even with Angel glaring at her over his magazine as she managed around the office. It was him, however, who steadied her as she jumped two feet in the air when her cell phone rang, startling her out of her reflections.

"Hello, Bristow speaking," she breathed when she finally rummaged her phone out of the stack of books and papers that was Cordelia's workspace. Usually spotless, recently it had been overrun with volumes that looked half alive with mildew and rot.

"Syd?" It was Vaughn. She let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding.

"Hang on a sec, okay?"

Smiling to the others in the room, she mouthed _'Vaughn'_ and tottered backwards on her crutches. Cordelia winked at her before Sydney shut the door and blocked them all out.

"Okay, what do you want?" She didn't meant to sound so flustered, but the epiphany she'd had a week ago had changed her attitude towards Vaughn somewhat. Suddenly she felt like a schoolgirl again, fawning and fainting over her latest crush. And what a crush he was.

"Hello to you too."

Against her will, Sydney felt dimples press into her cheeks as she smiled, beaming just at the sound of his voice. "Hi; it's just that some stuff is going on and…"

"And?"

"And, I don't know, I…I was worried."

Vaughn didn't answer right away, but Sydney wisely remained silent. Wherever Vaughn was, she didn't want to draw any more attention to him by squawking through a phone he may have been pretending not to use.

Suddenly his voice crackled over the line again. "Syd? Got to make this fast; don't have much time. They've got the prophecy. I'll mail a transcription of it to you a.s.a.p. Look for my package soon. And your tracker has been activated – they've sent a team out to find it in the Ural Mountains, but it keeps moving. Congratulate whoever got it there; mass confusion reigns on this end. And – oh no."

And before Sydney could put another word in, there was a crash and the line went dead in her ear.


	6. Fun and Games

**Welcome to the City of Angels**  
Rating: Pg.13  
Blurb: An Alias/Angel crossover. Sydney is rescued by the mysterious Angel, Rambaldi makes a cameo, and relationships are set into motion. (Vaughn/Sydney, Angel/Buffy, and possible hints of Wesley/Cordelia)

Chapter 6: Fun and Games_  
_

* * *

Things were tense in the office, Angel knew that, but he couldn't change the fact of it all. Once again, the end of the world was on its way. And seemingly unavoidable, as far as this prophesy made it out to be.

Wesley had gone to Sunnydale for a few days, taking Angel's book with him and comparing notes with Giles. The only thing they learned was that Rambaldi had a sickening fascination with the number 47, something Angel couldn't quite understand.

But nothing else had come up. All Angel knew was that he had yet another reason to stay away from Buffy.

And that in itself depressed the vampire. Suddenly, even Los Angeles didn't feel far enough away from Sunnydale. The urge to take flight and leave, to flee to the corners of the Earth was strong, but Angel wisely refused. He had sins to atone for, and friends who counted on him.

So he stayed, brooding again. Cordelia was the first to pick up on his slightly darker vibe, but she didn't comment, only made his coffee extra strong until he lightened up enough to crack a smile at her. Then she returned the brew to only slightly homicidal.

Sitting out in the lobby, a magazine forgotten in one hand, a cup of the original hell-coffee in the other, Angel blindly watched the spot where Sydney had been as she practiced on her crutches.

Other than the fact that it was several weeks too early for her to abandon the wheelchair, Angel was glad to see that she was up and about. And now she was in the inner office, discussing God knew what with Vaughn.

He smiled to himself as he thought over what he knew would make a happy couple. Sydney had openly admitted she loved him. And Vaughn's concern had admitted just as much to the wizened vampire.

When the door opened again, revealing Sydney bent over her crutches, a scowl on her face, Angel immediately stood. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

She shook her head, then paused, as if not sure if that was the right response. "It's nothing. Just…nothing."

Angel ignored her empty excuses. "It's Vaughn, isn't it? Is he alright?" If he wasn't, Angel would do whatever it took to help him, to help Sydney. She was still bent over her crutches, frowning at the floor, looking lost and hopeless.

"Vaughn's fine. I…just…he couldn't talk for long. Things are all out of control at the office."

Nobody spoke, just nodded absentmindedly. Sydney advanced unsteadily, maneuvering herself into Angel's vacated seat. Angel wandered to Cordelia's buried desk and began straightening the books piled there. Wesley and him had already been through these; all they had found was a big, fat zero for their efforts.

Cordelia also stood; Angel could tell the chaos surrounding her desk was getting to her. "Are you done with all of these? Cause if you are, I want them put away. Now."

Angel hid a smile behind his trademarked scowl and began to pile the books in a crooked stack that threatened to topple at any given moment. Cordelia ignored him and reclaimed her seat behind her desk, pushing more volumes towards his corner.

"Don't forget these, and when you're done, maybe you could fix this drawer. It sticks."

Wesley, from where he was sitting, snorted loudly, trying to disguise it as a cough. When all heads whipped around to confront him, he ducked his head, shrugging. "Sorry; I just thought that what Cordelia said was funny, and, well, never mind. Silly of me, really."

Cordelia made an impatient noise in her throat, rolling her eyes as she gathered a wad of pens and pencils. She started sorting them, throwing away all that weren't pristine. That included some that had been set upon by someone with a gnawing habit.

"Angel, please, why is it that you have to chew on my pencils? Couldn't you just buy a dog bone or something? It's disgusting. At least throw them away. Don't put them back. Ew. Major ew."

The vampire didn't bother denying it; Cordelia never believed him anyways. He managed to half-carry, half-throw the mass of tomes onto the empty shelves without dropping any. Sydney mimed clapping her hands before returning to the magazine she had commandeered after Angel abandoned it.

"Okay; so Angel, I do have one question for you," Sydney paused, holding up the magazine. "Why were you reading _Cosmo_?"

Immediately, Wesley and Cordelia looked up, both with impish grins smeared on their faces. "_Cosmo_?" Wesley questioned, abandoning his book to slide closer to Sydney, peeking over her shoulder at the bright magazine. "Might I ask what made you chose this publication over something more…?" He didn't finish, only faded out, gesturing at the fleshy photographs.

"More male? I mean, sure, it does explain the choice you have in clothes but…hey! Isn't that mine?" Cordelia snatched the magazine out of Wesley's hands, flipping through it.

"Maybe. I don't know. I found it on the coffee table…" Angel trailed off, shrugging.

"So you found it and decided, 'Hey, why not find out if I'm a 'Sex-Goddess'?' I mean, sure, I could see you as a god, but still! So are you?"

Sydney snorted into her hand. "You took the _Cosmo_ quiz? Why?" She stopped, then adjusted herself on the chair. "So, yeah, are you?"

Angel didn't answer.

Cordelia huffed, blowing a strand of hair away from her face. "Fine then. Let's see…question number one. 'What type of sheets could be found on your bed? A) Simple cotton, B) Silk & Satin, C) I prefer the natural feel of grass.' And Angel's answer was –"

"Okay; enough. Can we be done now?"

Cordelia shook her head, holding up the magazine with flair. "This is too good to let go. It needs major begging and possibly a raise. What do you say?"

When Angel made no response, she raised an eyebrow at him. "Alright, question number two –"

"Fine. Have a raise; take a week. Just leave me in peace. And give me that magazine."

Cordelia handed it over with a squeal of triumph. "Defensive, aren't we?"

The issue was in tiny pieces before anyone could react, fluttering into the trash can like snow. Angel dusted his hands off, smiling gleefully. "That takes care of that."

Both girls began to giggle, trying to hide it behind their hands. Even Wesley was laughing, but he didn't even try to hide it. Angel simply smiled, seizing a chair and kicking his feet up as he reclined, hands clasped behind his head.

"Go ahead, say it," he challenged.

"Say what? That you're so borderline femme fatale it frightens me?"

"Femme fatale? Couldn't you come up with something a little more…I don't know… manly?"

Cordelia shrugged. "You're the one taking _Cosmo_ quizzes. I'm just the secretary. I have no say…just a massive raise 'cause my boss enjoys knowing his 'Sex-Prowliness.'"

Sydney shook her head, tears of mirth streaming down her face. "Oh, dear God… 'Sex-Prowliness?' What's the world coming to?"

"Death by Viagra," Wesley offered out of the blue. "I mean, what is it with you Americans and pills for everything?"

Angel grinned despite himself, only half-listening as Wesley settled into his familiar rant against everything on this side of the Atlantic Ocean. It was very reminiscent of another English man's tirade that Angel had heard many times during hastily arranged study sessions, always halting the apocalypse or evil demons in their tracks.

"Are you done yet?" Cordelia asked as Wesley slowed, then coasted to a stop. He had covered everything from fast food to tennis shoes, and now, quite satisfied with himself, relaxed in his chair, smiling indulgently over the brim of his coffee mug.

"Quite."

"Good. I didn't think you were ever going to end. Sometimes you enjoy the whole foreign thing a little too much, you know?"

Wesley didn't answer, only retrieved his book, opening it to a rather obscene picture of some demon beheading what appeared to three young girls. Angel got a rather harried view of it before Wesley flipped the page, clearing his throat loudly as he did so.

"So now what are we going to do? Sit around and flip through ancient books? Or should we break out the parlor games?" Cordelia clapped her hands.

"Parlor games? How about…no?" Sydney shook her head, eyes wide. "I don't do charades. I don't do solitaire. I don't do it. No chance. No dice."

"Oh, come on," Cordelia begged, pouting slightly. "At least offer another suggestion. I would suggest bocce ball in the park, but the weather doesn't agree."

"Bocce ball? Only French men play that game. How about a classic like chess?" Wesley said, still sounding like the pompous Brit he was embracing. Angel suspected it had something to do with spending half the week in the company of the only other British ex-Watcher in a thousand mile radius. And Giles was definitely someone who was known to rile the younger man. And vise-versa, leading Angel to wonder just how Buffy and the rest were faring with an amped up Giles.

"Chess? Please. That's so 70's." Cordelia waved him off.

"70's? I didn't realize that chess was really such a fad in the 1970's. I always thought it was a timeless competition of wit and brains; skill and strategy."

Cordelia sighed heavily. "I mean for people in their 70's. Not like the actual time-period. Sometimes I wonder how you survived."

"Survived what?"

"High school. Seriously, there's something very wrong with you."

"Enough," Angel groaned, recognizing the signs of a full-fledged battle clicking into place. "Can we please not spar like children? One, we have a guest; and two; I don't want to hear it. Truce?"

Wesley was the first to nod, followed by Cordelia's meek, "If you say so." It didn't stop her, however, from shooting Wesley the evil eye when she thought Angel wasn't looking. Angel just ignored it, praying to who or whatever was listening that they would find some sort of peace before they drove him out of his mind.

* * *

Sydney couldn't help but beam behind her hand. It had been so long since she had seen any sort of monkey business and these random digs at one another were truly something to behold. Even Weiss would've been impressed, something to say for the official CIA jester.

The thought of the CIA caused a pang of longing to shoot through her. She didn't want to admit it, but she missed Vaughn. He had hurriedly called back after the phone clicked in her ear, signaling a lost connection, to mutter a hasty apology.

Weiss had knocked over a bookshelf, and Vaughn had, somehow, ended up in its path. So he was alright, just… Sydney hated to admit it, but he didn't sound all that moved by the fact that she was on the run from the national government.

"So, once again at peace, I raise the question; what'd'ya wanna do?" Cordelia began, rooting through her purse and withdrawing a cruel metal instrument that looked ready to slice and dice. She began filing her nails with it.

Wesley looked up, obviously trying hard not to succumb to the pressure of saying something evil. "Cordelia? You do realize that it is the usual time for work? That this is a job, and that –"

He was interrupted when Cordelia froze, then bolted from the room in a graceless, uncoordinated dance. Angel's door slammed behind her. Both Wesley and Angel were already on their feet, advancing towards the door with worried looks on their faces, something they were trying to hide.

"What's going on? Is she okay? Angel? Wes?" Wesley was the one to turn, and he flashed a pinched smile at her.

"Cordelia's okay. Just…has episodes sometimes. Must've remembered it was time for her…ah, pills."

Sydney nodded, not pressing the matter further. She watched Angel instead, as he knocked softly on the door, waiting for it to open and admit him in. It didn't open, instead Cordelia's strained voice could be heard through the door, "I'll be out in a minute." Whatever was wrong with Cordelia would be all right with Angel handling it.

Several minutes later, Cordelia emerged, a forced smile barely touching her pained features. Her hands were trembling and she looked flushed and worried.

"I'm sorry about that… I just forgot to call a client. Angel, he wants you to meet him here," she handed the paler man a slip of folded paper, "and Wes, definitely go with him. Take many…supplies. It's not pretty. And it's not something I want you bringing home."

The boys nodded, then turned and marched towards the stairs that led to Angel's quarters. At the last second, Angel spun, shooting a heavy look at both women. "Cordelia, I need you to take care of yourself. I would send you home, but could you stay with Syd?"

Sydney glared at him.

"Syd, Lord, I know you can take care of yourself, but I want you to keep an eye on Cordelia, okay? Just…don't get hurt. Go on downstairs and…do whatever it is girls do. Just don't," Angel shot a glare at Cordelia, "tell her anything I'll regret."

And then the men were gone in a flutter of Angel's long coat. And the office was silent.

Until Cordelia let out a stream of giggling that was infectious. Sydney almost fell out of her chair, but steadied herself at the last moment, holding out a hand to try and get the other woman to stop. It only made it worse.

"I'm sorry," Cordelia said, several minutes later, "it's just that Angel's so…I don't know…. I can't describe him. I really don't get it. At all."

Sydney nodded; her attention wandering. Still on gross amounts of pills, everything seemed surreal and kind of hazy. "I like Angel's plan. Let's pack it up and head downstairs. I think I hear popcorn calling my name."

"Angel has popcorn?" Cordelia asked with some surprise. She was busily turning off lights, throwing the room into a muted glow from the overcast dusk, sunset just starting.

"No. Angel had a jar of pickles. I added my own collection. Popcorn, aerosol cheese, and non-cardboard crackers."

"And what, you just carried this stuff around with you?"

Sydney nodded, shrugging. "I pack for any situation."

"But I packed. You sat in the kitchen and disobeyed medical orders." The lock on the door was flipped, leaving the office looking dormant. "I think it's all good up here. Let's head downstairs."

Sydney reclaimed her wheelchair where it had been abandoned in Angel's office. A short elevator ride later left them looking at Angel's classically decorated apartment. Popcorn was started, and Cordelia began working on locating a phone book. Chinese was in order for the released secretary and her associate.

"So where do you keep your food items? I mean, since I didn't see them on the dresser when I threw everything into your suitcase," she said, raising an eyebrow at Sydney across the kitchen.

The agent laughed, retrieving ice from the freezer with slow, halting movements. She arranged glasses on the counter and filled them with tap water. "I keep them in my purse."

"Your purse? So, what you're saying is that you have a mini mart in your handbag? That's... There isn't a word for what that is."

Sydney laughed, her dimples exploding like fireworks. "I learned that the munchies will strike you down wherever you are, so I learned to prepare. And the popcorn usually isn't in there; I got it from Eric, he's a coworker, shortly before this," she gestured at her bandages. "He thought that I would want to go home and mope."

"Mope?"

"I had a fight with Vaughn. Not a tiny, 'Hey, you stole my stapler,' fight, but a massive, 'I never want to see you again,' type of thing. Wasn't pretty."

"And you were going to mope? Classic. I like your plan. In this office, if we fight, then we have to go out and…conquer the nastiness of Los Angeles. I won't elaborate."

"Don't have to," Sydney muttered, her train of thought on a very different level than Cordelia's.

"So…Pay-per-view or little black box?"

Sydney shrugged. "I hear that TNT has reruns on; if you like long commercial breaks. Or we could always split for a movie."

After fishing around in the immense couch, something Sydney had passed over on her many treks through the apartment, Cordelia found the remote, clicking on the television set without looking at it.

Sydney sat down, shifting carefully from the wheelchair to the couch, pushing aside the pillow and blanket that were neatly folded over the arm; remnants of Angel's make-shift bed. "Wanna play Russian Roulette?"

Cordelia looked up quizzically. "Like I pointed out after Police Woman left; I'm not big on the flying bits of metal part. Unless it involves M&Ms or dollar bills, count me out."

A laugh bubbled out of the wounded woman. "No, no, no. Russian Roulette with the television set. I'll take the remote, and click until you say stop. Then you have to watch fifteen minutes of whatever's on, infomercials included. And then we switch; you surf and I watch. Leads to interesting watching and long discussions over the evils of Richard Simmons and Eight Minute Abs."

After apparently thinking it over, Cordelia nodded excitedly. "Sounds like a plan. Now what happens if we land on someone totally hot, like…say, Christian Slayter? Or…"

"Then we get a bonus half hour," Sydney said with a wink. "It's only fair that we indulge ourselves. We are ladies, after all."

* * *

It was a blob. A sort of oblong, stringy, blobby thing. With arrows pointing to various parts with captions like, 'poison,' and, 'sharp.' For a demon portrait, it was nothing. But if looked at through slightly crossed eyes, Angel swore he could see the beginnings of a very nice drawing of a cow.

"Okay, so the address Cordy wrote down is right around the corner. Any clue as to what we're up against?" Wesley handed Angel a battle-axe, ducking back down to retrieve another axe, followed by two broadswords and a nasty looking mace.

"Mutant string cheese. With venom and teeth." Angel thrust the paper at Wesley, growling dangerously. "I can't make heads or tails of it. And that's literally."

"Looks like a Portic Beast to me." The paper was handed back, the Brit looking very pleased with himself.

"Congratulations. You know the name of a creepy demon. Let's go kill it."

Wesley nodded, then launched himself out of the car. Angel watched him, somewhat surprised. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

"My travels as a rogue demon hunter led me to many exotic locales, and I was able to pick up many new skills – "

"Death by demon may be more merciful. Let's go."

And they were off, sharp objects in each hand, with back up pointy ones at the ready. Angel led with a spring to his step. He needed some good demon slaughter. Slaughter was therapeutic; released tension, melted away stress. Angel got a warm tingly feeling just thinking about whacking off heads and limbs. He didn't know whether to be frightened at that fact or strangely proud.

The address Cordelia had jotted down was actually an old abandoned warehouse; two doors and no windows. A short jog around the building revealed nothing extraordinary, other than the newspaper lying neatly folded on the doorstep.

Angel and Wesley held their pow-wow in front of it, talking in low tones with wide gestures. They both jumped, however, when the door flew open and a large, steaming tentacle slid out, coiling about the newspaper.

It took the better part of a minute before the warriors realized what they were seeing, and when they did, they raised their weapons and charged. Several minutes later, they emerged, slightly worse for wear, but still standing.

Angel's entire sleeve had been torn off; somehow managing to not disturb his coat. A scratch along his jaw was his only other injury. Wesley hadn't been as lucky. Somehow, he had gotten in the path of a nasty stream of mucus, which now coated him from glasses to boot heels. Other than that, he was uninjured and rather excited about the accelerated kill.

"You know you're not riding in my car when you're oozing like that, don't you?" Angel muttered, wiping his broadsword on the grass, scraping off the majority of the sticky, clinging hair that matted the blade.

Wesley, meanwhile, was trying to extract his own blade from his hand. The mucus was thick and tacky, gluing the handle to his palm. "And I'm supposed to hail a cab? What to say? 'I'm sorry, but I seem to have a bad head cold?' Never mind that it smells like rancid cottage cheese."

Angel shrugged, seemingly not caring. "As long as your head cold is nowhere near my upholstery, I don't care what you smell like."

Not answering, the slimy man motioned to one of the manholes in the street. "I'll walk. If I don't call in half an hour, then I'm stuck on one of the walls. Meaning come and find me."

He waddled towards the hole, lifting the cover with a slight grimace before shimmying down into the darkness, leaving Angel standing, amazed, in the middle of the street.

"That's something you don't see everyday," Angel muttered to himself as he collected the weapons strewn about on the street in front of him. After retrieving his blanket from the backseat – put there in case of a sun-filled emergency – he wrapped the weapons up in it and threw them into the trunk.

Fifteen minutes later and he was staring, slack-jawed, at the girls, curled up on his couch. Something bright and loud was on the television, but Angel ignored it, still stuck on the sight before him.

In his two and a half centuries on this planet, Angel had never made the effort to understand the opposite sex. He knew that they were, well, female; and that when trained, fought like hell itself was storming their veins.

But this was new to him. Two girls, chatting and giggling together, popcorn in front of them, Chinese cartons on the floor at their feet, all in his living room. It just didn't seem to fit. True, he had seen Willow and Buffy together, on occasion, through a window as they laughed, but their conversations usually had an undercurrent of surrealism. After all, Willow was a blossoming witch, and Buffy had been dating a vampire…

Sydney knew nothing of that life; so what could she and Cordelia be discussing? A few words and phrases broke through the program on the television. Clothes, and boys…a mention of food…

The phone rang just then, derailing his train of thought. The two on the couch were unprepared; they jerked, turning to find Angel already answering the call.

"Hello, Angel Investigations." He grimaced as he realized that they had called his private line, not the office number upstairs.

An almost indecipherable murmur greeted him, then the clicking that signaled that the connection had been cut. Angel shrugged, putting the phone back in its cradle and turning to face the inquisitive females still lounging on his couch.

"Who was that?" Cordelia asked nonchalantly, throwing back a handful of popcorn.

"Wrong number, I guess." Angel meandered around to the sitting chair, throwing himself into it with practiced grace. "Didn't really say anything, just hung up. So, what are you watching?"

Sydney dove for the remote, holding it up in front of Angel with a gleam in her eye. "Nothing important. You wanna play Russian Roulette?"

He glanced over at Cordelia, who shrugged innocently. "It's fun," she said with a smile. "I think you'll like it."

* * *

Angel still wasn't speaking to them. Or more specifically, her; but Sydney couldn't blame him. They had, after all, made him watch Tony Robbins prance around as he prattled on and on about his biceps.

In spandex.

For an hour.

Sure, they changed the rules a little bit, but Angel had agreed to them. And he did follow through, as promised, but not before complaining loudly and shooting several evil glares in their direction. Cordelia and Sydney had disappeared into his bedroom, shutting the door behind them.

And then had collapsed into giggles, trying hard not to be heard in the other room. It just struck a chord with Sydney as she and Cordelia leaned against the hard wood, listening to the muffled television set in the next room. Something about it was infinitely funny.

And laughing felt good right then.

The next morning was when it started: Angel stopped talking to them. Cordelia sounded exasperated as she explained, "It's not us; it's him. He'll come around. Especially when he finds out that I've got his messages. Which he won't get back until he's speaking to us again."

Somebody knocked, interrupting the silence in the office a few hours later; Cordelia was typing unhurriedly on the computer as Sydney struggled to make sense of the filing system Cordelia had invented.

Wesley was nowhere to be found, having arrived with a smile and a wave before disappearing into Angel's office for the majority of the morning, only venturing out for coffee and doughnuts.

Cordelia made it to the door first, beaming up at the deliveryman standing there.

"I'm looking for a Mr. Angel." He sounded bored.

Sydney watched from her chair as Cordelia half turned, an exasperated look on her face, shouting, "Angel!" before retreating to her desk, shuffling around papers.

Angel appeared in the doorway half a second later, a large axe held poised above his head, worry pressing lines into his forehead. "What? What is it? Are you okay? Are you having a –"

He stopped at the sight of the deliveryman, who was staring, open-mouthed, at the weapon, which Angel lowered and tucked behind his back.

When neither man spoke, Cordelia groaned. "He has package for you. Sign for it. Now."

Both men were launched into action, the deliveryman arranging his papers and locating the pen, Angel handing the axe off to Wesley who was standing behind him.

Nearly a minute later, Angel's office door was shut again, the deliveryman gone, Wesley now relocated to the lobby, where he sat, almost sulking because he had been thrown out to be with the girls, who were now eyeing him with malice intent.

"What's bothering Angel so?" Cordelia asked after a time, acting as innocent as she could, the remainders of a devilish smile hinting around the corners of her mouth.

"The evils of television. Or so he muttered before we actually went to work." Wesley shot a look at Cordelia, who was oblivious, shuffling papers, a game of solitaire opened on her computer screen.

"Yeah, well, that's the way the cookie crumbles," Cordelia muttered, rolling her eyes. "I mean; progress isn't a bad thing. It isn't our fault that he's stuck in the eighteenth century."

Sydney laughed, nodding. "He does seem to have a problem with technology. Had to have me show him how to use the microwave downstairs; funniest thing I've ever seen."

"Wait till you see him and his cell. That's a match made in Hell."

Wesley's response was interrupted by Angel himself, as he opened his office door, the scowl still worn without reserve. "Sydney, can I see you for a second in my office?"

She had the sudden vision of a student cowering before a principal's door. Laughing softly as she struggled to place her crutches and stumble to the office, she gave a look over her shoulder at Cordelia. The secretary gave her a quavering smile and a thumbs up before Sydney turned and hobbled into the inner workings of Angel Investigations.

"Present, oh Jedi Master of Buff Biceps," she teased, easing into the leather armchair across from Angel's impressive desk. He was sitting with his feet up, a letter in one hand. Sitting on the desk in front of him was a sealed manila envelope, a scrawled name written across the front in Vaughn's easily recognizable scribble.

"Very funny," he grunted, tossing the envelope into her lap. "That's for you. Vaughn had it sent to me. Knew I would get it to you. Explains it all in this," he waved the letter at her, "and says he hopes you're well."

Sydney opened the envelope with slightly trembling fingers. A packet of uniform, important looking documents fell into her lap, followed by folded piece of paper with her name on it again in Vaughn's loopy handwriting.

After staring at his penmanship for a minute, she opened the letter, scanning it with eager eyes. He hoped she was well and that she was enjoying her 'time off.' But after half a page of sentimental ramblings that caught at her attentions and heart, the tone changed, suddenly urging and panicked. He spoke of the prophecy and the coming of dark times. She flew through the rest of the letter, the words practically ringing in her ears in Vaughn's somber voice.

The first papers were official documents that mentioned the prophecy in passing; words describing the condition of the paper and other details that had no real bearing on what Sydney was looking for.

Finally, tucked near the back of sheaf of papers was what she had been looking for. A page, torn from one of Vaughn's pads that lined his desk, with his messy handwriting warning her yet again. It was paper-clipped to a document that was a copy of a highlighted page.

Sydney closed her eyes, taking in a long breath before trying to make out the words under the grainy copy. What she finally read made the text swim before her eyes, her breath coming in short hiccups. It couldn't be right; it just couldn't.

'This woman here depicted will possess unseen marks, signs that she will be the one to bring forth my works. Bind them with fury, a burning anger, unless prevented. At vulgar cost, this woman will render the greatest power unto desolation.

'She is the Chosen One, destined to encounter The One without Breath…'


	7. Collision Course

**Welcome to the City of Angels**  
Rating: Pg.13  
Blurb: An Alias/Angel crossover. Sydney is rescued by the mysterious Angel, Rambaldi makes a cameo, and relationships are set into motion. (Vaughn/Sydney, Angel/Buffy, and possible hints of Wesley/Cordelia)

Chapter 7: Collision Course_  
_

* * *

Angel was at Sydney's side in an instant, an arm supporting her weight. She was shaking her head, murmuring to herself, which even Angel's superior hearing couldn't decipher.

When she suddenly surged to her feet, Angel had to fight to stay balanced, still crouched next to the chair. He rocked on the balls of his feet, finally finding his center even as Sydney raced for the door, slowed by her crutches.

After tripping over the chair she had just vacated, he made it to the lobby just as Sydney disappeared into the sunshine, out the door and into the rest of Los Angeles. Turning to Wesley and Cordelia for help, he found them sitting innocently on the couch along the wall.

"What in the hell? Why didn't you stop her?"

Cordelia stood, crossing to room with her head down, coming to stand in front of Angel like a penitent child. "Excuse me, Father, I didn't realize that Sydney wasn't old enough to venture out into the big bad world alone."

Angel sighed, running a hand through his hair and mussing it even further, something that made the hints of a smile appear at Cordelia's mouth. "She's upset. Something came from Vaughn in that package, and she took off."

"Well then, she's probably at the Smoothie stand down the street." Cordelia was already gathering her purse and coat.

"And you would know this how?"

"Because she told me right before she bolted out the door. Don't think we didn't try to stop her; we did. She was a woman on a mission. She needed a smoothie. And ta-da; I am brilliant with the locating."

Angel grumbled to himself as Cordelia headed out the door, tossing a wave over her shoulder before shutting the door behind her, cutting off the few rays of rebellious sunshine that twisted their way inside.

And so, he paced, wandering the floor in dizzying patterns as he waited for Sydney and Cordelia's return. When they didn't show after his tenth lap around the lobby, he returned to his office, straightening the papers Sydney dropped as she raced for the door. When she let them go, they had taken advantage of their freedom and fluttered everywhere. Some were under his desk, some on it.

He stacked them neatly on the corner of his desk, straightened his own mess of papers, fussing to distract himself as the minute hand slowly migrated towards twelve again, signaling the hour and a half mark since Sydney's dash for the door.

Wesley was still reading in the lobby, head bent over a volume on past Watchers. After researching on what they knew to be fact about Rambaldi and finding nothing, they had turned to the legends and lore surrounding the prophet.

And nothing had turned up so far.

Shortly after Angel had compulsively rearranged the weapon cabinet for the fourth time, the girls returned. Both were smiling, dimples in place, shopping bags hung over both arms. Sydney had some hanging from her crutches. Some were trailing them, a friendly cab driver buried underneath the packages and bags from surrounding shops.

"Where were you?" Angel asked before either girl had a chance to speak. The bags were piled near the door, the driver paid and tipped, and coats shed before either one answered.

"We went shopping." Sydney said brightly, still smiling even as Angel glowered across the room.

"For almost three hours?"

Cordelia burst into laughter from where she was perched, ankles crossed, on her desk, a scarf trailing its way towards the floor. She was absentmindedly running it through her fingers, the lacing on the ends fuzzy and long.

When she caught her breath, she waved a hand dismissively at Angel. "You sound surprised." Gales of laughter, and then, "We shopped for _only_ three hours. And trust me, we could've been at it for several more."

"Cordelia knows all the good bargains in the town. Not to mention cute-y sales clerks." Sydney flopped down on the couch next to Wesley, who was watching the exchange with mild interest; head down, glasses perched on the end of his nose.

Angel turned to Cordelia. "And you couldn't call?"

Cordelia shrugged. "I left my phone. Here, in the office. It must have fallen out of my purse." As if to prove her point, her cell rang, muffled, and she dove for her desk drawer. She rifled through whatever she kept in there – it sounded to Angel like plastic candy wrappers – and then retreated into Angel's office, slamming the door behind her.

"That explains that," Angel said, and then turned to where Sydney was reclining, eyes closed. "But not you. Are you okay?"

She lifted her head to peer at him through slitted eyes. "No. I need major pill action. I even welcome the float-y feeling."

"Other than that?" Angel asked, obediently handing her a couple of pills and a bottle of water from Cordelia's private stash in the fridge.

"Fine. Just sore. I got the cutest skirt in the world, though. I can't believe I let her talk me into buying it; I'll never have a reason to wear it. But it's white with black polka dots. And Cordy even picked out the sweetest pink tank to wear with it…"

She trailed off, swallowing the pills before leaning back against the cushions. "But you don't care, do you? I mean, sure, you have kick-ass taste in clothes, but –" Here she was interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. "Man, I must be wiped."

Cordelia breezed out of the office just then, retreating to her desk with a smile on her face.

"Maybe you should head downstairs. You know, take a break from it all. Come on," Angel muttered, pulling Sydney to her feet and wrapping an arm around her as he led her to the elevator.

It was just as the doors opened that a shot rang out; a cruel voice snapping behind it, the words like shots themselves.

"Thought you could lose us, Miss Bristow?"

* * *

Sydney turned, dumbfounded. The door to Angel's lobby was thrown open, the darkening rays of sunset silhouetting the masked men standing there. Plaster littered the floor, the shot having blown a hole in the ceiling. From her vantage point in front of the opened elevator, Sydney could see Wesley and Cordelia, hauled to their feet, standing against a wall.

It was stupid of them – the attackers, not Wes and Cordy – to press them against that wall, because even from where Sydney was standing, she could see the medieval weapons tacked to the wall. An axe was just to Wesley's right, and a nasty looking mace was directly in front of Cordelia.

But that voice – Sydney knew that voice. All thoughts save survival were pushed from her mind.

"Damn it," she swore under her breath, managing to maneuver herself in front of Angel, willing to protect him with her life.

She realized that as she leaned over her crutches in front of him. He was her friend; and she knew he'd do the same for her.

But he had more to live for. He had the friends, the job, the girlfriend. She wasn't going to stand around and let another friend fall to the job, to _her_ job. She wasn't going to watch another lose their life.

She'd had enough.

"How in the hell did you find me?" A hint of anger marred her words and she battled it down. _Don't provoke them. _

"It was easy enough. All we had to do was ask the local police. The resident detective was more than happy to share with us this place of business. I don't think you left a good impression on her, Miss Bristow; she didn't seem very impressed with you. Or did you fail to mention _your_ place of employment?"

Sydney didn't answer, her mind spinning around the single thought that Angel's friend, that Lockley girl, had betrayed her.

"Kate," Angel breathed behind her, his voice low. He sounded on edge, ready to fly into action. But he didn't know what he was up against. Trained assassins, mercenaries, men trained to kill swiftly; they all waited for a single movement with their fingers on triggers, hoping, really, for them to move forward and present a target.

Sydney shifted, just barely, laying a restraining hand on Angel's arm as he moved to stand alongside her.

"Yes; that was her name, wasn't it? Kate? Pretty girl."

"You didn't hurt her, did you?" Angel asked.

"Ah… This must be the infamous Angel. Chatted all about you, she did. A private eye, a hero to the helpless, on and on until I was sorry I had asked. But this is rude of me; let me introduce myself, as Sydney has appeared to have forgotten her manners."

And then the ski mask came off, revealing the chiseled features and bright eyes that she loathed.

"Sark," she breathed, involuntarily raising a crutch, prepared to swing it as a baseball bat at the blonde standing in front of her.

"You remembered. I'm touched."

Angel moved alongside her, looking at her and then Sark as if trying to put together the pieces in front of him.

"Did you hurt Kate?" Sydney asked, repeating Angel's earlier question. She didn't really care, just was biding time as Wesley tried to gain Cordelia's attention. The axe was already in his hand, tucked between him and the wall. Their guards were busy watching the reunion their boss was having.

"Not a pretty hair on her head."

Sydney waited and then frowned. "Isn't this the point where you detail your master plan? And then I laugh and point out the holes, and then you start shooting and I kick your ass?"

Sark started laughing, staggering back towards the soldiers in the doorway. Leaning on the shoulder of one, he regained his balance and squinted up at Sydney, still standing defiantly next to Angel, a crutch poised in the air.

"And how would you go about kicking my ass? You're injured, love, and should be resting."

Sydney scowled as she realized the truth his statement had to offer. She started to step forward, when Angel clamped on to her arm and wouldn't let go. He pulled her back until she was standing slightly behind him.

Sark began laughing again, watching them as they fought to stand in front of each other.

"As touching as this is, I do believe that sharing time is over."

As he spoke, the guards snapped to attention, their weapons automatically aiming.

And before she knew what was happening, she was thrown into the elevator, the gates slammed shut, and it clicked into motion, beginning to descend. She flew to the bars holding her in, pressing against them even as the shooting started.

Angel, who had been the one to toss her in the elevator, leaped across the room, felling three guards as he landed on them. Sydney watched amazed, then traumatized as bullets tore through his back. He fell, his body slamming into the ground, eyes wide and unseeing.

And then the elevator sunk beneath the floor and Sydney collapsed, her heart breaking for the friends she couldn't save.

* * *

Angel groaned to himself, the pain radiating outwards like little soldiers, marching to his arms and legs to treat them to a helping of pure agony.

Getting shot was never fun, this Angel knew, but getting shot in the back with a high-powered rifle at close range was not something he ever wanted to do again. He struggled to his feet, the shooting grinding to halt at his supposedly miraculous rising.

His body was screaming for him to change, to give into the instinct pulling at him. And he did, the appeal too intense to resist. His face thickened, and he habitually ran his tongue over the sharp teeth now a threat to anyone with a pulse. Or they had been, but times had changed. Now they were mainly just for show.

The guards scuffled as they retreated in surprise. Sark, the blonde one that knew Sydney, was the only one still holding his position, another gun held in his hands. They were all human; Angel could hear their heartbeats thundering away, the adrenaline of attack and the surprise of his resurrection keeping them going. Even their leader was human, but then again, they weren't after Angel were they? No, instead they had come looking for Sydney…

"Damn it," Angel swore, twisting around enough to catch a glimpse of the mangled remains of his sweater. It was one of the few he had left that hadn't demon fluids or weaponry holes in it; not to mention it was a nice black cashmere that Cordelia had picked out for him over the holidays.

"You ruined it. Do you know how hard I tried to keep this one from getting holes shot in it?" Angel glared up at the young man, still staring openly at him.

"I never really thought…" He sounded stunned.

Angel licked his lips, flashing a mouthful of teeth in his direction. "What? That we really do exist?"

The blonde man – he was really more of a boy – made a go-to gesture with a hand and several of the guards stepped towards him, their rifles raised. Angel flew into them, glad that not all eyes were still locked on him.

The majority of the soldiers were trained for long distance fighting with artillery, not hand-to-hand fighting as Angel initiated. More than one nose was broken, a femur shattered under a well-placed scissor kick, and quite a few ribs fell under sharp jabs and hard punches. No one attempted to shoot at him; they were too close in range. A missed shot could mean the death of someone standing behind him.

Cordelia and Wesley took Angel's fury to heart and turned on their guards. Across the room, Angel cringed when he saw Cordelia bring her mace down on one soldier's outstretched arm, the crack of bone reaching him a second later. Wesley was fighting with a vengeance Angel hadn't seen before, the axe he welded dealing more damage than it was meant to inflict.

Angel had turned on the remainder of the guards standing, frozen, near the door, dutifully avoiding the final rays of struggling sunlight that littered the floor. Somehow, Sark was still between him and the exit, his rifle training not at him, but at Wesley and Cordelia where they stood, triumphant, over a slew of injured soldiers.

With a single motion, their attackers lurched towards the door. Angel made no move to stop them, the gun still aimed over at his friends. As the last of them staggered through the door, supporting the weight of their broken-legged associate, Sark also backed towards the door.

"We'll meet again, Mr. Angel. That I can assure you."

And then he was gone, melted into the street scene, leaving the occasional pedestrian to race back and forth, as they scrambled to get home before dark.

Angel shook his head; that Sark character seemed so familiar…like someone he knew once… Another cocky Briton, someone with a snarky attitude and –

He turned to find Wesley trying to extract the mace from the wall where Cordelia had planted it after swinging at a soldier and missing. Cordelia was watching, laughter evident in her eyes, as Wesley failed miserably to wrench it from its resting place.

The office was in shambles; Angel's neatly reorganized weapon cabinet splintered from its collision with an assassin's head. Cordelia's desk had been swept clear of everything; the computer somehow landing, miraculously, on her chair, the padding saving it from further damage.

Wesley's bookshelf appeared the only thing that had survived the attack; it was sitting, sturdy as ever, along the wall, books still in neat rows except for the occasional one with a bullet hole in the binding from the shots taken at Angel.

Cordelia abandoned Wesley, hurrying towards Angel with a concerned look in her eye. "Let me see."

Angel shrugged out of his sweater, ignoring the slight gasp of Cordelia, followed by Wesley's uncommon, "Bloody hell." While Cordelia buzzed around the office, gathering the first aid supplies she kept upstairs for such an emergency, Wesley closed the door, flipping the deadbolt into place with a satisfying click.

Suddenly Angel shot upwards, ignoring the slice of pain his movements caused. He raced to the stairs, jumping from landing to landing as he sprinted to the elevator where it still stood, silent, in its final resting place.

Flinging open the gates with more force than necessary, Angel bent next to the fallen Sydney, gathering her battered form from where she had collapsed in a far corner of the boxy elevator.

He carried her to the bed, now followed by a procession of Cordelia and Wesley, both trailing bandages. As he straightened, he scanned her, searching for any injuries other than those she'd carried before the attack. Cordelia and Wesley, right behind him, the bandages clutched in worried fists, gave the sigh of relief Angel couldn't give as they all came to the same conclusion; she hadn't been injured.

Angel bent over her, trying to get her to awaken. When she didn't, Cordelia laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Come on, now. Let me clean you up. She'll be fine."

He gave the merest hint of a nod, but Cordelia already had pushed him back into a chair, carefully probing his back. The bullets were dug out with Wesley's help, all six of them, dropped onto the silver tray still sitting along Sydney's bedside with a _clink_, _clink_ that caused even Angel to shiver, the sound like nails on a chalkboard to the vampire.

Gauze was produced, wound about his chest and back as they camouflaged his injuries until they healed. At the pain still throbbing, he figured a good three days and he'd be back to the normal state of dead that he was used to.

Adjusting the chair so it sat alongside the bed again, Angel settled in for a time, prepared to stay awake all night if necessary, to be sure that Sydney was all right. Even though he promised himself that, he only made it to midnight or so before he began to doze, arms folded over a bandaged chest, head tucked on shoulder.

* * *

Consciousness came slowly, a dull ache radiating from somewhere she couldn't quite place. She battled her way to the surface, fighting away the images that had haunted the darkness. Visions of Danny and his death, of Vaughn lying broken and bleeding, of Angel, falling repeatedly as she failed to save him.

The light from a bedside lamp was the first to assault her as she opened her eyes, focusing on the ceiling before gaining enough stability to risk looking either direction. She shifted, and the first thing she saw was Angel.

That's when she knew she was dead.

Sark must have gotten to her, must have killed Cordy and Wes too; that explained why she could just see them, out in what looked like Angel's living room, asleep on the couch, Cordy's head on Wes' shoulder, his arm thrown about her shoulders. They looked so at rest, so at peace that Sydney offered up a silent prayer of thanks.

Her eyes fluttered back to Angel, sleeping next to her. His head was lowered, as if in prayer, and his arms were crossed over a white chest, made whiter by the thick gauze twined about him as if he were a mummy.

But wait – were bandages necessary in heaven? And if they were, was there actually pain to accompany them? Because Sydney could definitely feel every cell in her ankle screaming, the same for her arm, her shoulder, her ribs. Even her uninjured leg ached, as though it wanted in on the action too.

And in heaven, did they show Three Stooges on television? Because that's what she could hear, but not see, the television just out of view. But the picture was casting a flickering shadow on Cordelia and Wesley as they slept.

Sydney pushed herself up to a sitting position; the nausea that overtook her was strong and overwhelming. She ducked her head, waiting until it passed before she settled back against the headboard.

And then she reached a tentative hand out, a finger making contact with Angel's arm.

He was cold.

Her hand scrambled to find a pulse, to assure herself that maybe he just needed to be covered up. But there was nothing.

There was no familiar warmth about him, no faint heartbeat, no anything to give her hope that he was still alive.

He was dead.

Sydney choked back a sob, her nightmares coming to life again, spinning around her as they blurred into one picture, filled with so much pain and blood and sadness…

She had failed Danny and had failed Angel. Curling into a ball against the headboard, her knees supporting her head, arms wrapped around herself to ward off the demons in her past that were awakening and stretching, straining to contact her and bring her to her knees with their grief.

Memories she didn't know she had flashed before her closed eyes, like a slideshow stuck on forward, no pause in sight. Sights of boys, long forgotten, that she had failed when she was just a girl, men she had failed when she wasn't strong enough…

Sydney pressed her fists to her eyes, trying to regain control of her runaway thoughts. There had been one too many deaths, one too many losses on her side.

Maybe it was the slight breeze he caused when he moved, or maybe Sydney just happened to glance up, but whatever it was, it allowed her to watch as Angel began to stir where he was sitting, arms spread as he stretched.

Launching herself backwards off the bed, Sydney let out a scream. She had seen many things, many crazy things, but this was something new.

First, she'd seen him shot. Then sitting next to her, without a pulse. And now he was _waking up?_

Angel was already on his feet, startled by Sydney's shout, crouching next to her with a speed that just wasn't natural.

"Sh, Syd. Sh," he muttered, still next to her even as she skittered back against the wall.

"No. No 'sh.' You tell me what in the hell is going on. And then maybe I'll 'sh.'"

Angel adjusted himself where he was crouched. "I think we need to talk."

"Damn straight we do."


	8. The Myth of Sandy Claws

**Welcome to the City of Angels**  
Rating: Pg.13  
Blurb: An Alias/Angel crossover. Sydney is rescued by the mysterious Angel, Rambaldi makes a cameo, and relationships are set into motion. (Vaughn/Sydney, Angel/Buffy, and possible hints of Wesley/Cordelia)

Chapter 8: The Myth of Sandy Claws_  
_

* * *

Not only was she surprised, but she was pissed. And afraid.

He'd never meant to make her afraid of him.

"So talk," Sydney spat after several seconds of staring, their eyes locked.

"Where should I start?" Angel asked, settling himself against the bed, feet braced on the opposite wall. A hand rubbed at his bandages absently; injuries always itched as they healed, even for the special ones who healed like they were on crack.

"I don't know. Just start from the beginning. And tell me the truth."

"1753."

"What?"

"It all started in 1753."

Sydney raised an eyebrow, incredulous. "Okay, this is getting old, but what?"

"I was…created in 1753." Sydney opened her mouth as if to speak, but Angel held up a hand, silencing her. "I was 26 and foolish…" He went on to tell her the story of Darla, of Drusilla, of Spike. When he mentioned the word 'vampire,' she let out a barking laugh; half cough, half guffaw. He told her of the Gypsy, of the curse. Buffy's story came out, followed closely by the paid vacation to hell. He spoke of life without the curse and life with it, what he was and what he had become.

And Sydney sat, folded against the wall, arms crossed awkwardly over her cast, listening, having fallen silent long ago. Her face was impassive; she didn't even look at Angel, instead she was staring resolutely at the floor near his feet.

As he finished, explaining Angel Investigations, he fell silent, waiting. She didn't speak.

Silence ensued.

Finally, a glance from the blank girl. "So you're good, created by evil, fighting for good?"

"For today," came Cordelia's wry response. She and Wesley had apparently woken up sometime during Angel's narration and were hanging, enthralled, over the side of the bed.

"Alright, so it's okay that I'm confused, right?" Nods all around, and then, "My life story seems like a such a downer after that."

Angel was stunned. "You're just accepting it? No questions? No…loud protestations?"

She shrugged, then tucked her hands back under her knees. "We both knew coming into this that we had secrets. I didn't ask after yours, you didn't ask about mine. You respected me, I did the same for you. And so, for some unexplained reason, I'm okay with what you told me."

"Maybe you didn't hear it all," Cordelia contributed. "I mean, it's possible that you didn't hear the part where he's a vampire. Meaning he's dead, he can't go into the daylight, doesn't have a reflection, -"

"That explains a lot," Sydney muttered, still staring at the floor. When Cordelia didn't continue, she glanced up. "I mean, the lack of mirrors down here. Along with windows. And then the whole gentlemanly thing he has going on; it's way too antique."

"What?" Now Angel was curious.

"No one is that polite all the time. No one is a perfect gentleman, no one opens doors anymore; your type of manners are very much endangered. But it's kind of romantic-like, you know?"

Angel ducked his head, bashfully.

"But still; you're telling me that demons, and vampires, and werewolves, and…monsters…are real?"

More nods. And then Cordelia spoke, "I know a girl who was dating a werewolf. He was really…different."

"Oz!" Angel grinned, proud of himself for knowing that one.

"Okay," Sydney said after a pause, eyes wide. "This is…major. I'm going to need a…week or two to take this all in."

"No problem."

Cordelia and Wesley, having gotten bored of their conversation, had discovered a deck of cars and were in the process of dealing out what looked to be a mean game of war when Sydney groaned.

"It's my turn, isn't it? I get to tell you all about my life."

Immediately the cards were abandoned, heads appearing simultaneously over the edge of the bed as they peeped down at them.

"Are you ready for this?" More nodding, and then Sydney settled back against the bed. "I'm a spy."

Guffaws from the peanut gallery, Sydney waving them off. "I am. Really; with the shooting and the disguises and all that." She described her dead mother, the supposed Russian spy, and her father, the brooding double agent. Noah's affections were told, followed closely by Danny; his life and death with her. Arvin Sloane was described in great detail, the evil, but well dressed, villain. Sark was mentioned, almost in passing, the baby-faced front for evil.

And then there was Vaughn. Sydney's voice faltered slightly as she talked about their experiences together. She even spoke of his father, the honorable William Vaughn, killed by the hands of one Irina Derevko, also known as Laura Bristow, Sydney's mother.

She finished, all eyes still locked on her with rapt attention. No one spoke for several moments. Usually secret identities, for Angel and co., had to do with demonic activity and banishing the forces of evil without, say, letting your mom find out. Running around disarming nuclear warheads was a different story than what they were used to.

"So you're a double agent, huh?"

It was all Wesley managed, but it made Sydney smile. "Yeah, I lie for a living. Joy."

Secretly, it was all beginning to make sense to Angel. He now understood why she was so still, so secretive. Her words came back to him from their conversation in the hospital: 'I've killed a man. I've killed more than one. But I'm sorry for almost every one of them.'

And they made perfect sense.

Questions were still being asked; her occupation had more questions for the detective demon hunters then their job had for her.

"So what's the coolest disguise you ever got to wear?" Cordelia asked, settling herself on the bed.

"Probably the rubber dress." At the shocked look on Wesley's face, she explained. "It was a blue, skin-tight dress I had to wear. Very uncomfortable. But very distracting. Explaining why I was able to…well, maybe I shouldn't detail that – I don't want to get you in any trouble if they find out I've told you all what I do."

"Coolest gadget?" Wesley asked, sounding very British all of a sudden. The image of Wesley as a Jr. James Bond sprung to Angel's mind, resurrected from the depths of memories that involved Sunnydale and Buffy.

"I don't know. I really like the cell phone gizmos that Marshall - he's our tech guy – comes up with. Fingerprint duplicating, keypad decrypters, scanners, scramblers… Guy's a genius. Of course, he's also working for SD-6, -"

"Those are the bad guys, right?" Cordelia clarified; eyes wide.

"Yes, they are, but Marshall's a sweet heart, who happens to think he works for the CIA. Too bad he's not."

The questioning stretched into the night, Sydney finally turning the tables enough to pose several questions to the group before her, asking about several fables and story book monsters, curious if they were based in fact or simply the work of overactive imaginations.

And as Wesley so aptly put it, "The majority of it is based in fact. Other than that rotund man called Sandy Claws. He's complete myth."

Cordelia was shocked. "Sandy Claws? What is your childhood trauma? It's _Santa Claus_, you British hen, you."

As the clock chimed for the eighth or ninth time that night, signaling the approaching of dawn, Angel finally rose, his muscles protesting by refusing to move right away. As it was already almost four in the morning, Angel shooed everyone to bed, feeling very much like a cross mother hen as they scattered. Cordelia and Sydney commandeered his bed, as expected, leaving Angel and Wesley to scramble for rights to the couch.

As Angel didn't feel like putting up very much of a fight, never mind that he was the one with numerous holes relating to the _gunshots_ he had intercepted earlier that day, he gave up all and any hold on the couch and retreated to his offices upstairs. And so, he sat, glaring hatefully at the lightening glow of dawn through his blinds.

What he wanted to do involved combing the streets for mutated evils and destroying them. Unfortunately, by the time he found one, chances were he'd be a crispy critter shortly there after. Sunrise was coming; the scent hung like a perfume in the air, warning the creatures of the night to retreat to safe havens.

It wasn't Sydney's confessions that put him ill at ease, nor was it the fact that she now knew what he was and what he did. It was a combination of the taste of the air – like it was trying to _warn_ him or something, - and the strange feeling twisting in his gut – much like the feeling he got after Buffy, once telling him she loved him, had impaled him on her sword; confusing but necessary. 

Something big was coming.

* * *

Sydney lay still, trying to ignore the tug of sleep. As tired as she was, her mind was frantically running over all that she had learned that night.

Demons were real. Werewolves; real. Even vampires. Hell, she was living with one!

Kind of strange little twist in her life, but still. It was just weird to think that this entire other universe existed, right under her nose, without her even suspecting it.

But some of it made sense. How many cases had the CIA brushed off as unexplained? How many sightings of people long dead and buried had been reported? Didn't the CIA have an entire division with jurisdiction in that type of thing?

True, she thought it all bull up until this night, but hadn't the signs always been there? The little things that always made her conscious twitch, trying to tell her something… But she had always ignored it. Until now. Because now she was starting to believe it.

She was starting to believe that the world belonged to more than just humans… It belonged to the demons and the witches and the vampires. It just all fit… The world was something else entirely, something dark and deadly once the sun slipped beyond the horizon…

Not to mention, her host was dead. He had no heartbeat, no self-regulated body temperature, no breath…

No breath?

As in, some_one_ _without breath_? Sydney mentally slapped herself. How could she have missed it? What if the prophecy – that evil, mumbo-jumbo that had Vaughn all spooked – was about Angel? And her, supposedly. If it was all true. She still had her doubts that she was really involved; it just seemed all so unlikely.

A prophecy about _her_, Sydney Anne Bristow, written by a man long dead? Not if she could help it. She was the shy girl next door, the one who went to library during her lunch hour, the one who knew all the answers in class. True, now she trotted all over the globe, destroying the evils of man and greed, but she was still just a normal girl underneath it all.

She definitely wasn't some prophecy girl, destined to destroy the world…right?

But it made sense, now that she thought about it. If what Angel had said was true, that vampires had no conscious, no feelings, and he was the only one who did… That meant it could be him... Atoning for a past he can't forget… Loves with a still heart – hadn't those been his exact _words_?

_The One without Breath_…

Sydney shifted, sliding out of the bed without disturbing Cordelia. Somehow she managed to slither to her suitcase and rummage around in it, fingers brushing past clothes, her toothbrush, cosmetics; all twisted into a mess. She was crouched uncomfortably, her ankle stuck out in front of her.

Finally, she found it, twisted in with the clothes she had peeled off just moments before. After extracting the cell phone, she searched in the darkness for her crutches, hobbling out of the room and towards the stairs. Even as she managed to slide her way up, avoiding the elevator and its incessant noise, she missed the curious pair of blue eyes peeking over the back of the couch, squinting in the almost total darkness.

Angel's office light wasn't on, but Sydney had a feeling he was near. Moving with every ounce of control she had, focusing on complete and total stealth, she eased through the lobby.

After careful maneuvering, she found herself on the roof, watching the sky dance under the coming dawn. Black was lightening to blue, blue to purple, purple to rosy pink, then to red and orange, blended together along the horizon.

Pulling her phone out, she opened it, suddenly bathed in the aqua blue glow of the backlight. After checking the pager option one last time – it was actually the read out for a bug detector built into the phone, thanks to Marshall – she pressed out familiar digits and cradled it against her ear, waiting almost impatiently for an answer.

Several rings later – Sydney almost growled at the wait and at the improbability of her handler not having a answering machine – he answered, sounding grumpy and tired.

"Vaughn speaking."

He didn't sound too confused, which made her wonder for a second exactly how many pre-dawn phone calls he got.

"Vaughn? It's me."

"Sydney?" Suddenly, he sounded more awake, alert.

"Yeah. I'm sorry about calling so early, but I needed to talk to you…" A pause as Vaughn said something and then, "About the prophecy? Yeah, you could say that…"

* * *

He swore he heard footsteps – well, not really footsteps but more like rhythmic climbing of the stairs – make their way through the lobby, prodding Angel to hesitantly stand, back protesting with mind-bending shots of pain.

Just as he was about to open the door, something – his vamp senses, maybe; or instinct kicking in again – prompted him to pause, just in time to hear actual footsteps making their way up the stairs.

It was Wesley – the man's after shave was light, but still there, Angel zoning in on it without thought. He threw open the door, confronting the Brit.

Wesley let out a muffled shriek, grabbing for the handrail just as his knees gave out, saving him from toppling down the stairs backwards.

"What in the bloody hell is wrong with you?" He asked in a stage whisper, readjusting the glasses that were hanging off one ear.

"With me? What's wrong with you? I'm not the one sneaking out of bed at all hours of the morning," Angel returned in the same hissing whisper.

Wesley huffed, tugging at his undershirt as if it were a suit coat of some kind. "I was…on a mission," he explained.

"A mission?" Angel laughed; the word sounding foreign to the ex-Watcher. "Looks to me like you were trying to be quiet."

His mouth worked as if trying to form words. Finally closing it with a snap, Wesley shrugged.

"And what's got you bothered this early in the morning?" Angel continued.

"Actually, I rather want to know what's got Miss Bristow so bothered this morning."

Angel, who had been leaning against the wall, attention focused on the axe hung there, glanced over at him. "Sydney? Isn't she asleep?"

"Not so. She was making her way upstairs when I heard her, so I followed; wanted to be sure that she was all right. Your life story is quite the pill to swallow, you know."

The vampire nodded, brow furrowed. "She didn't seem that upset before. Just a little stunned. I don't see why she'd take off. It's not like her; she's more of the 'face-what's bothering-you' type than the running sort." He once again scratched absently at the bandages now hidden under a tank top, pulled from some corner, long forgotten.

"It's called delayed reaction. Maybe she finally realized that she was living with a demon, decided she couldn't handle it and took off. Also known as denial."

Angel glowered at the know-it-all smirk on Wesley's face, put there purposely, he knew, to annoy the older vampire. "Or maybe she decided that her attraction to you was getting in the way of her staying here." It was complete bull, but Angel wanted to see Wesley squirm.

And squirm he did, blushing a cherry red and stammering as he ran a quaking hand through his hair, standing it straight in the air. Angel laughed, his low tones mixing with the gentle, cheery tones of a very female voice. Looking up, he found Sydney standing behind Wesley, a smile bright across her features.

"Yes, Wesley, I decided if I couldn't have you, then I had to leave. The temptation was just too great."

Wesley glared at them both, arms now crossed resolutely. "What about that Vaughn fellow?"

That stopped her short and she froze, eyes wide. "How do you – I didn't – but you – and – and… Angel did you –?"

Angel shook his head, still trying to overcome laughter.

"I'm not blind, Miss Bristow."

Sydney scowled. "Does everyone know? Am I that obvious? I mean, sure, I only know nine ways to compartmentalize emotions and hide them away, but a few weeks with you people and you can read me like a book."

Wesley grinned, happy that he had stopped the harassment. He snapped on the lights, revealing the damage again.

"Dear God," she breathed, sagging slightly against her crutches. "Did that bas – did Sark do all this?"

"No," the Brit assured. "Angel did that," he pointed at the splintered weapon cabinet, "and that," a gesture to Cordelia's ransacked desk, "and that," a final motion to a broken chair, the pieces spread across the room.

Sydney took it all in, eyes sad. She managed her way around the room, tracing the holes in Wesley's books, propping Cordelia's computer back on her desk. "I'm going to personally beat him when I can finally walk again."

Angel nodded, his arms crossed. No one moved for what seemed like a lifetime, all silent as they surveyed the destruction.

Wesley was the first to move and break the stillness. "I hate to say it, but where are we going to find money for repairs?" He sank onto the unharmed couch, still sitting solidly against one wall, untouched in the mass hysteria.

Angel situated himself at the opposite end of the couch, long legs stretched out on the half-collapsed coffee table. He watched, ready to help at the drop of a hat, as Sydney picked her way across the room and tumbled onto the cushions between the two.

"How about an old-fashioned bake sale?" She asked, sarcasm ringing in her voice.

Wesley gave a low chuckle, nervously shifting on the undersized couch. "We could sell organs."

That gained a chorus of raised eyebrows as both Angel and Sydney did comical double takes. Both looked shocked at his proposal, which he shrugged off. "Not necessarily our own, of course. I'm sure there's a black market somewhere, waiting for the delivery of harvested demon organs, gathered in their prime."

Sydney started; a full-body shiver sweeping across her limbs. "Wow. That's not cool. I mean, the idea that we're actually discussing selling organs; that's a little out there. I think Cordy's right, Wes; I think you need some new hobbies and stat."

Wesley grumbled to himself, folding his lanky arms over his chest with a disproving snort. "Just a suggestion," was the only comprehendible phrase before the accent grew too thick for even Angel to decipher.

The dawn light was just beginning to make the windows glow as all three fell asleep, heads on one another's shoulders, smiles playing along their lips. For tonight, they were safe.

* * *

It was early the next morning, while two were still asleep on the couch that the third made his way into Angel's office, zeroing in on the stack of papers on the corner of the desk.

He flipped through them, almost casually, before dropping half of them in surprise.

For there, surrounded by lines of ancient Italian and Latin, was a picture-perfect portrait of Sydney Bristow, glancing demurely off of the page and into his eyes, daring him to reveal this secret, this intimacy.

He tried to translate, but the code was too complex to be broken without some work, so he flipped another page, in frustration and found a translation. He read it, then scanned it again, trying not to choke. It couldn't be right…could it?

A glance out into the lobby revealed the two, and he knew, deep inside that it was.

The end was coming and from the looks of it, they were all doomed.


	9. Demolition Derby

**Welcome to the City of Angels**  
Rating: Pg.13  
Blurb: An Alias/Angel crossover. Sydney is rescued by the mysterious Angel, Rambaldi makes a cameo, and relationships are set into motion. (Vaughn/Sydney, Angel/Buffy, and possible hints of Wesley/Cordelia)

Chapter 9: Demolition Derby

* * *

It was almost a week later before anything major occurred. Sydney, with the help of some of Wesley's special healings herbs, came back from the hospital, officially able to maneuver about on her crutches. She was ecstatic; now Angel wouldn't be able to grumble at her.

Citing the need to move on, Sydney held a small gathering as she ceremoniously deposited her wheelchair in the dumpster behind Angel Investigations. Candles were involved, along with a few more of Wesley's plants.

And then she went back to straightening the lobby with the rest of the crew. The majority of the damaged furniture had joined the wheelchair, while the undamaged furnishings had been piled in Angel's kitchen, awaiting Cordelia's signal that the lobby was clean.

But first, holes had to be plastered, the floor swept, – Cordelia was demanding waxing as well – the books repaired, and the walls repainted. It was an interesting scene, the main workings of Angel Investigations in complete chaos. As Cordelia put it, it was a good thing they didn't have any clients or they'd have lost them fast.

Sydney found herself laughing more than once as she encountered the new sides of her benefactors. She almost fell backwards, down the stairs, when she discovered a suit-less Wesley happily pounding nails into a new piece of drywall. He was in one of Angel's tanks, and the sight of the lean Brit looking so gritty was a sight she wasn't going to be forgetting soon.

Angel, meanwhile, had found a love of interior decorating, and would usually be bent over magazines with Cordelia as they planned color schemes and layout of their new lobby.

But Cordelia was the one who surprised them all, taking a crowbar to the demolished weapons cabinet and tearing it to scrap lumber before their eyes. Wesley had almost fainted, saved only when Cordelia threatened to take the crowbar to him if he didn't stop.

The room was coming along very nicely; it had already been painted and the floor waxed – twice – before everyone began to move back in. Wesley's bookshelf reclaimed its rightful place, as Cordelia's desk spawned and took over more than the usual corner.

They had all gone shopping for a cabinet for Angel to house his weapons in, finally convincing the brooding man to go for a particularly nice mahogany one. It may have been way out of their modest budget, but everyone felt the need to spoil the vamp just a tiny bit.

It was a bright morning; Sydney was still trying to decipher Cordelia's filing system – Cordelia had splurged on new filing cabinets – and Angel was categorizing his weapons. Wesley was rearranging his books, mourning slightly over the damage while gloating over the new selections purchased by Angel on a whim.

To the west hung overshadowing clouds, dark and foreboding. But in the east, the sun sat in the sky, bright and burning in the early stretches of the day.

"Okay, okay. The silence is getting to me."

Wesley adjusted his glasses, jumping like a startled deer. "What?"

Cordelia popped up from behind her desk, a handful of wires escaping from her hand. "I'm trying to network and the silence is unhealthy. Somebody find a radio and fast."

Angel and Wesley glanced at each other and simultaneously shook their heads. "No radio."

She sighed, blowing a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes. "Why not?"

"Two words; bubblegum pop. So, no," Wesley said, shooting a glare over his glasses.

With her idea rejected, Cordelia frowned and sank back beneath the desk. Sydney smiled to herself behind a handful of files.

Her frown faded when Vaughn's words came to her again, haunting as they always did, as she remembered his tone as he spoke of the prophecy. "It isn't something to be joked about, Syd. This is serious. The CIA is still looking for you, now with the FBI's help. They've alerted numerous countries. Syd, you've got a _bounty _on your head."

She hadn't mentioned Angel or his…being what he was. No, she had simply asked to hear everything Vaughn knew about the prophecy. She wouldn't let it come true.

Not if she could help it.

"So; what do you think of plants?" Cordelia's voice drifted out from behind her desk. Angel glanced up from a crossbow, the weapon held loosely in his hands.

"What?"

"Plants; could I get one? You know, to talk to?"

Angel didn't answer, only turned back to his weapons with a shake of his head. Sydney settled back into the couch, pretending to organize the files, but really only watching her friends as they bent back to their tasks.

Cordelia was practically glowing; smiling to herself even as she managed to connect a cord to the computer wrong yet again. After arriving to work late for the fourth morning in a row, she had finally confided to Sydney that she was seeing someone. Someone, she was happy to inform, who wasn't allergic to the sun and didn't have demons birthing in his basement. Sydney wasn't clear as to why that made her so happy.

Wesley, meanwhile, was curiously somber. His face was sometimes twisted in thought, a frown appearing in between his eyes. His normal suit had taken a few days off while the office was in construction zone, and he looked – Sydney almost hated to admit it – dashing in a casual blue shirt. If Sydney hadn't thoughts of a beautiful pair of green eyes, Wesley might have very well been material for a lustful gaze or two. That thought almost scared her more than Angel had when she caught him whistling.

And Angel, busy bee that he was, had an almost smile twitching at his lips. He had definitely caused alarm over the last few days as he sang to himself. Long forgotten Irish drinking songs and several slow French ballads could be caught if you listened carefully enough at his office door. Cordelia was attributing it to the latest batch of blood – "Never can trust butchers, I tell ya," – while Wesley was only worried that Angel might be a little _too _happy.

Sydney didn't care. She was just glad to feel so at home. Phone calls to both Francie and Will had revealed both happy, and seemingly, very hooked-up. A drunken kiss had evolved into Will practically moving in. And there had been no messages from her 'crazy boss at the bank,' put in Francie's words.

Speaking of, Sloane had been ignoring her calls. While it pleased Sydney to know that she didn't have to abandon Angel Investigations in the near future, it also had her on high alert. When Sloane didn't take calls, it signaled something big on the horizon…

Cordelia brought out the prepared sandwiches, made at a deli down the street, shortly after noon. Angel disappeared downstairs, reappearing with a mug a short time later. Lunch together had become a daily ritual, with both Wesley and Cordelia hanging around to eat and talk before they returned to what ever they had been working on.

"So – tuna fish. Demon spawn? Or silly lunch meat?"

Wesley shot a reproachful glare over his glasses, unable to respond in words as his mouth was full of turkey and cheese. After swallowing, he spoke. "Tuna fish is in no way demon. It is merely the coincidental outcome of a number of unrelated and completely random events that shaped its evolution and created the creature we know today as the tuna."

Cordelia stared, her jaw hanging near the floor. "I didn't realize it was possible to shove that many syllables into one sentence. There should be a restriction."

Wesley preened.

Sydney and Angel ignored the sparring that had started across the room, paying the majority of their attentions to their respected meals. The agent was munching absentmindedly on half an apple; her appetite at an all time low with the antibiotics beginning to work their magic. The vampire was nursing a large mug of O positive, straight.

"Syd? Any lunch meats you interested in discovering origins for?" Cordelia asked, a forgotten peanut butter and jelly in one hand.

"Bologna," she called out, her voice distant.

Cordelia shrugged and turned her conversation back on Wesley, who looked slightly ill at ease at the discussion of processed sandwich meats.

Angel glanced up sharply, eyes locked on the door. Sydney was the only one to notice, and she glanced over as well only to find an unopened door flanked by unfinished moldings. She let out a long breath which drew a look from her host and went back to staring out the window.

The vampire, however, couldn't sit still and surged to his feet. Pacing in the front of the window, a crossbow bolt twitching in irritated hands, he looked tense, low growls escaping from his direction every time and again.

"Angel? What's got you all 'grr' this evening?" Cordelia finally asked, glancing past the pacing vampire, who was unknowingly striding in the window. No smoke or fireworks were present, however, because the clouds had finally swallowed the sun. The city was being smothered in the still and dark that foreshadowed a coming storm.

"I smell blood." All eyes turned to the abandoned mug still sitting on the new coffee table. "And no, it's not animal blood," he said without turning away from the window. "It's human. And it keeps getting closer... Damn it, it smells familiar."

Sydney groped for her crutches and finally joined him at the window, watching the street with wary eyes; scanning the rooftops and windows for snipers, glancing at the idling car just down the street, all in habit. A blonde caught her eye half a block down as she raced across the street; she looked like that detective Angel knew…

But then she spun, waving at someone she'd just passed and Sydney dismissed her. A dark haired man was waiting on the corner, a cigarette clutched in a thin hand. Yet another was huddled in a doorway across the street, head lolled to one side, a forgotten bottle tucked in one hand.

Everything looked normal to Sydney. Even the familiar lack of children racing after one another in the streets. She eased back into her chair, motioning Angel to follow her.

After one last lingering glance out the window, he retreated to his spot, reclaiming his mug and staring into the depths. Sydney could only guess what he was thinking, his face a mask of confusing and conflicting emotions.

He glanced up once more, eyes feral and alive.

Sydney half turned, glancing over at the window. What she found instead made her freeze, eyes wide. Cordelia and Wesley also froze, hands raised. Angel had risen, the wild look not absent but dutifully reared in and controlled.

It was Vaughn, leaning against the frame, one hand pressed to his shoulder, which was bleeding. Torrents of blood had already coated his coat and shirt, plastering it to his thin frame. Droplets were clustering on the floor, spattering loudly in the silent room.

"Hey," he said with a crooked smile, tottering where he stood. "I heard you help the helpless…"


End file.
